


The Sound of Glass - Book One

by ozwizardo



Series: The Crystal Thread [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Compliant, F/M, Friendship, Fuck JK Rowling, Gen, Good Slytherins, M/M, Multi, No Bashing, Original Character(s), Original Character-centric, Slow Build, my city now, plot wise at first but then we are OFF
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:08:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 33,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28866774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozwizardo/pseuds/ozwizardo
Summary: Albus Dumbledore makes what may be the best and worst decision of his long life.He hires Miranda Devlin as the new Astronomy Professor.(AU - What if wandless casting was actually a Social Thing and not just a skill)
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Septima Vector & OFC, Severus Snape & Original Female Character(s)
Series: The Crystal Thread [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2116929
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	1. The Offer

**Author's Note:**

> This will obviously be explained in the first chapter - but this is an AU focusing on what it might mean if there was more than one way of casting magic. Because, frankly, why would literally the whole world only use wands and only do spells in Latin?
> 
> I will be adding diversity in more ways than one. Hope you stick around!

No matter how much time seemed to pass, evenings were still rainy and dull in the city of London.

Miranda Devlin rolled her neck as she trudged up the cracked linoleum stairs to her apartment, suitcase in hand. The sound of rushing cars echoed strangely off the tile, forming discordant pseudo-harmony with the click of her heeled boots.

To any passerby, she just seemed an oddly dressed but old fashioned kind of woman. Wild curls barely restrained in what remained of a tie, long skirts and a thick shawl over her shoulders. She barely avoided rubbing an eye so as not to dislodge her contacts.

But she was far more than met the eye.

Ignoring the flickering fluorescent light of the hallway, Miranda blew warm air over her fingers. The Himalayas had been beautiful, but so very unforgiving, and she could still feel the cold that had crept into her fingertips. _Gods to be warm again._

She nearly felt tears well up at the idea of a hot bath and cup of tea, followed by finally sinking into her bed for the first time since . . . she couldn't remember. Mercy, before the Himalayas, she’d been in Romania, and then Chad before that, which had been preceded by Egypt. . . Shouldering her way through the wards on the door and tossing her luggage on the floor, Miranda let out a huff of breath. After a long, long time, she was home. Flicking on the lights, she set on the kettle first. The sooner her hands were warm, the better.

Of course, just as she had removed her coat and was unwrapping her shawl, there was a knock on the door.

For several seconds, Miranda paused. Her wards hadn’t gone off, so whoever was at the door certainly had no ill-intent. But the timing was a bit too perfect to be a normal visitor. 

Unwinding her shawl, she heard the person knock again, and debated pretending she wasn't home. She was tired, so very very tired. The journey had been long, the research trip longer. She’d turned in her paperwork at the Ministry and it was ten in the bloody evening. Who could possibly be calling at this hour?

Figuring she'd peek out the peephole, and send away anyone who didn't have any obvious business with her, she nearly choked at the recognition of a trimmed silver beard and thin, gold spectacles.

Throwing open the door, she blinked in shock at the tall, old wizard currently dressed in a burgundy suit and examining her long dead potted basil.

“Headmaster Dumbledore?” she asked, not totally sure why her old headmaster was standing on her doorstep in the middle of Muggle London.

“Oh, excellent, I've caught you at home Ms. Devlin. May I come in? I have some things I'd like to discuss.” Smiling like this was something he did every other day, Albus Dumbledore folded his hands and awaited her response. Miranda blinked, opened her mouth to speak, thought better of it and closed it again, only to fall into silent puzzlement.

After a full minute of silently imitating a fish, she stepped aside, motioning him in.

Dumbledore calmly walked into her apartment and as he stood there, his deep red velvet suit standing out against her plants and piles upon piles of books. Miranda suddenly found herself wishing she’d had a chance to dust.

“I, um. I was just making tea,” she slipped into the kitchenette, motioning vaguely at her crowded coffee table, “would you like some, sir?”

“That would be excellent, thank you.” His calm voice responded, and she glanced over just in time to see him wave his wand, summoning an extremely tacky armchair between her two of her larger potted cacti. “If you happen to have some chamomile, I wouldn't say no to it.”

“Yes of course.” Miranda concentrated very hard on her hands as she prepared them both tea, trying to find some reason why there was an extremely powerful wizard in her living room. As she finally emerged from her little kitchenette and handed him his tea, she had yet to find an answer.

“Would you like a caramel?” Dumbledore produced a few of the bright candies from his pocket, and held one out. When Miranda shook her head no, he gave a small shrug and began unwrapping one for himself. “You are no doubt wondering what I could be doing here.”

Biting her lip, she nodded. Gods, this was certainly odd, but even after all this time, something about him made her feel so very young. Settling himself into his chair, he gave her a casual smile. “You did apply to the professorial position at Hogwarts, did you not? It is about time we had an interview.”

That had not been the time to take a sip of tea. 

“Wait - now?” she coughed, trying to keep herself from choking. She’d completely forgotten about the application, and assumed the school had as well. It had been almost three months since she sent it. Yet in the face of her disbelief, Dumbledore just continued giving her that same gentle smile, as if she was a particularly sweet child.

“Yes, my dear. Your schedule has made you rather hard to get a hold of.” Miranda flushed at that, perhaps she should have mentioned that in her application. Dumbledore continued speaking before she could apologize.

“Professor Sinestra was the Astronomy teacher at Hogwarts during your time there, yes?” At Miranda's slightly confused nod, he continued. “A brilliant woman indeed, but she found herself yearning for retirement not long ago. She even suggested I consider you for the position.”

Miranda blinked rapidly, but before she could formulate a response, he continued. “She has always insisted you were one of her most brilliant students, and would choose no other to replace her as a professor at Hogwarts. I know this is rather sudden my dear, but I've come to discuss that with you. Tell me about your work at the Ministry.”

Taking a slow breath, Miranda sat up straight in her chair. “Currently I am one of five witches and wizards on their main research team for astrological patterns. We travel regularly in order to map and predict planetary movements, in order to assist other Ministry research.”

She lifted her hands, projecting a little illusion spell of the solar system between them. “Planetary movement is well known to affect various kinds of magic, in both it’s formulation and execution. The more data my team can provide about the current star chart, the more conditions other research teams can account for.”

Dumbledore nodded at her explanation, and Miranda lowered her hands and dropped the spell. “And you find this work fulfilling?”

Miranda tilted her head, eyes drifting away from the Headmaster. “Yes and no. The work I do is incredibly important, my team is a delight to work with, and with this work I have seen more of this world and its magical cultures than some ever will. . .

“But I’ve gathered all the experience one can from this job. I find myself yearning for something more. . . permanent. There’s nowhere for me to go with this job that I haven’t already gone, and-” _and I’m tired of sleeping on the ground for crap pay and no respect._ “I think it’s time I devote myself to something I can grow into, where I can help others grow as well.”

Dumbledore’s silver eyes glimmered behind his glasses, giving her the feeling he knew what she may have really meant. “True, there are several benefits to the position, including less travel than you are forced to do with your current employment, and what I would call a competitive salary.”

Biting her lip, Miranda nodded demurely. She loved the work she did, but she was barely twenty-seven and she was already so tired.

“Another question for you, dear. Do you still cast with a wand?”

Miranda bit her lip harder. There were two main societies, if you could call it that, in the wizarding world, the modern side and the side referred to as Weyc’s. These witches and wizards cast without wands, claiming that though innovative, wands cut the user off from their more elemental bases. As a result they were shunned, labeled as savages, and shoved into small communities where they lived among the non-magic populace. Miranda was from a long line of those sorts of witches, and though her grandfather insisted she be ‘formally educated,’ she still carried the label.

“Yes sir, I can. I find that being able to pass among modern society is. . . easier, in the long run.” Miranda finally spoke, keeping her response hanging on details. She had no shame in what she was, and just because she _could_ cast with a wand didn’t mean she _liked to_.

Dumbledore seemed perfectly satisfied with that. “Either way matters little to me, how you choose to present yourself to others is your choice entirely, Miss Devlin. I ask only so that any public descriptions of you align with your own.”

Her eyes dropped to her hands, barely glancing at Dumbledore from beneath her lashes “Then in that pursuit of honesty sir, I am what I am. While I don’t advertise my family line, we are well known and I will not be ashamed of that. A Weycc on staff will cause a bit of a stir among parents, even if I wouldn’t be teaching what’s considered a ‘practical’ course.”

With that, Dumbledore gave her a sudden and very serious look over the rim of his teacup, and Miranda found herself taken aback at the determination in his eyes.

“Who you are will have no bearing on your abilities to teach. You earned your grades like many other students, in fact, you earned quite a few more than most. That is all that should matter, am I understood?”

Miranda nodded gratefully. Dumbledore was a grown man, if he said he could handle the backlash, then he could, and she respected his choice greatly.

“You mentioned on your application you had some limited experience with teaching,” Dumbledore smiled and steepled his fingers together. “Would you tell me more about that.”

“I have some practice teaching, but only from when I first got out of school.” She thought of when she moonlit teaching Potions revision for wanna-be Aurors. “As you know, the Ministry’s Auror applicants have to undergo certain training in order to be deemed fit for duty.”

Dumbledore nodded, indicating that he had. “When I first graduated, I worked as a sort of remedial Potions teacher in that program. As you know, I did very well in my Potions N.E.W.T.S. so I assisted those Aurors in re-learning or improving their skills... In that vein, I did have a question. I worked in that position for two years, before moving into the Astronomy department. Obviously Professor Sinestra left behind some of her works, but is there any additional training I would receive in that regard, just to get the cobwebs out?”

“If you would like, we do have a sort of system in place for such cases,” Dumbledore took a small sip of his tea. “You had other questions?”

“Yes,” she said, but then paused, unsure how to phrase her next question properly. Trying to tread carefully, she kept her tone casual as she spoke. She didn't want to seem haughty. 

“Is the position of Astronomy professor the only one currently being offered?”

Dumbledore blinked, and for a split second, Miranda saw some unknown emotion in his eyes, but then it was gone. “Currently yes. Was there another position that caught your interest?”

“I've … always been fascinated by the study of Potions. And the little experience I have in education lies in that subject. I mean no disrespect, of course, but it's a field I would feel slightly more comfortable teaching-” she stopped as Dumbledore held up a wrinkled hand.

“Unfortunately, we have a Potions professor, and one I'm rather intent to keep. But I will keep your interest in mind.” Miranda heard the clear dismissal in that statement, and, deciding to honor it, turned back to her tea.

“Alright, my last question is when. . . would I technically start? And can I have a look at the contract I'd be signing first?” Dumbledore smiled again, and produced a scroll of parchment from inside his robe. Miranda reached out to take it, feeling a swoop in her stomach at the Academy seal proudly emblazoned on the wax.

“I believe this will detail all the odds and ends. You will hear back within the week about our final decision surrounding this position,” Dumbledore gave her a little wink, and then set down his now empty mug. “Hopefully, I will see you quite soon.”

Giving him a shaky nod, Miranda helped Dumbledore out the door. Which, once it was closed, she collapsed against, mind racing with the sudden shift her world had taken.

* * *

The late morning cast peaceful haze over a cluttered bedroom, catching and scattering off crystals in the windowsill. Books, plants, and papers littered most surfaces, and a lone figure slept deeply in the canopy bed.

Then came a sharp rapping at the window. Immediately, Miranda Devlin sat up in alarm, before firmly rubbing one eye as she awoke. A resounding squawk made her realize there was a owl at her window.

“Alright, I’m awake.” She waved one hand, and her window tidily unlocked itself and opened, letting her visitor hop inside. “Good lord, it’s been ages since I’ve slept in. Who could possibly be writing me now?”

The owl paid her little mind, fluttering to her bedside table and taking a deep draft from a forgotten cup of water. From his perch Miranda's own owl Bathory crooned in response. Scrubbing her face, Miranda fumbled for her glasses and slipped them on. _Okay, that was good enough._

Reaching forward, she gently stroked the bird twice on it’s chest before retrieving the letter tied to it’s leg. Usually, her kind of witch didn’t use owls for postage, so that immediately lit her curiosity. As soon as it was freed, the creature crooned in appreciation before hop-skipping its way out the window.

“Thank you,” she said absentmindedly, already turning the scroll over in her hands. As her eyes caught on the wax crest sealing the paper shut, her eyes widened. _It couldn’t be._

With shaking hands, she tore open the letter with more speed than care, eyes immediately devouring the scrolling ink writing.

_Dear Miranda Devlin,_

_We are delighted to tell you that your application for the open teaching position at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has been accepted. You have, as of this date, March 14th, been granted the title Professor of Astronomy. To accept this position, return the attached contract, sign, via owl post at your earliest convenience._

_Term begins on the first of September, and all teaching staff are expected to appear in Hogsmeade by the 20th of August, to allow for curriculum review and preparation. Should there be any schedule conflicts, or assistance needed in moving into the castle, please contact by post before the first of August._

_We are excited to see you in the coming term._

_Deputy Headmistress, Prof. Minerva McGonagall_

“Oh. . . _Oh!_ ” Miranda pushed herself up onto her knees, bed creaking. “Oh I did it! I did it! I can’t believe it, can you, Bat?”

Her great grey owl gave a long yawn in response. Miranda waved casually, unperturbed by the lack of response.

“Oh now, I know you expected me to get it, but you know how nervous I was. Everyone wants to teach at Hogwarts, they’re one of the top magical academies in the country. Additionally, with me being a. . Well. . . they’re taking quite a risk, you know.”

Bathory took that opportunity to preen his wings, fluttering his feathers smoothly. Clearly he didn't think it was as much of a big deal. Smiling, Miranda approached his perch and crossed her arms.

“Thank you for the vote of confidence, but I think we shouldn’t let our excitement get the better of us.”

Once he finished realigning his feathers, he slowly blinked at her bedside table and let out a loud call. Jumping, Miranda turned her face toward the clock, wondering what had spooked him. As her eyes registered the time, she flushed and cursed a blue streak. _Was that the time?_

Rushing to her bathroom, she dressed and applied makeup with an astounding speed. Slipping in her contacts, she blinked to avoid running her eyeliner. 

She promised she would meet her family for coffee this morning and she was somehow already almost late. At the last moment, she paused, considering her curly mess of deep chestnut hair. Sighing, she gave it up as a lost cause, and threw it up on top of her head before securing it with a clip. 

“Where is it? Oh bloody hell _where is it_ -” Picking her way around her overflowing aloe plant and ducking under her spider’s vine, Mira finally found her wand and threw it into her purse alongside the scroll. With a warm blue cardigan over her dark sundress, she dumped a cup of food out for her bird and was through the door.

* * * * * *

“I’ve got some big news,” were the first words out of Miranda’s mouth as she slid into the café seat. Her father, Cyrus, gave her a bit of a look over the rim of his coffee, but her mother Johanna smiled.

“Should we wait for your brother then, or get right to it?” She tossed her bright red hair over her shoulder, causing a man behind them to glance in their direction. Drumming her fingers on the menu, Mira debated.

“Sylvester actually won't be able to join us," her father hummed. "Apparently there's been a bit of an emergency at work and Crouch is keeping him late."

Johanna frowned. "Doesn't that man have anything better to do than harass our children?"

In lieu of answering, Miranda retrieved the scroll from inside her stitched bag. “Regardless, mama. I have _news._ Last month, Sly pointed out an advertisement in last month’s Times. And well, I may have, um. . . applied.”

In a moment, the scroll was out of her hands and in her father's. As he read, she explained to their mother. “Hogwarts had posted about a few open positions. And, well, one was for their next Astronomy professor.”

“Of course they accepted you,” her father Cyrus responded, grinning lazily over the parchment, handing it back. “They would be fools not to, and I never took Albus Dumbledore to be that much of a fool.” 

“You didn’t? That makes one of us.” Johanna's grey eyes grew sharp as she turned her attention toward her daughter. “Are you truly going to accept the position?”

“Of course I am. What would be the point in applying?” Miranda felt her hackles raise slightly.

“Miranda, I don’t want to belittle your accomplishment. I’m very proud of you,” her mother said, “you’re likely the first true witch they’ve ever even offered a job to. That alone is a _historical_ achievement. I just want you to also keep in mind that as one of our kind, there’s going to be more of the same prejudices-”

“No more so than I already get at work,” Miranda said. “Mother, worry is understandable, but I _want_ this job. I. . . I have a feeling, one deep in my gut that’s _willing_ me to do this. No amount of modern wizard’s prejudice is going to stop me from pursuing that. Just because we follow a more traditional school of thought doesn’t mean I’m any less capable.”

“I know, you proved that when you graduated from the academy in the first place, my dear. You’ve proven that time and time again,” Johanna sighed, “I just worry about those who don’t care what your accomplishments may say.”

Shrugging, Miranda took a sip of her coffee. “Well I don’t.”

“I think this is great,” Cyrus finally spoke, handing off the scroll. “It’s about time they had one of our kind on staff. You know we can always help you if things get difficult of course?"

Miranda smiled, of that she had no doubt. "Yes, father. But I'm pretty certain I can handle it. At the end of the day they're just children."


	2. Professor Devlin, I Presume?

The train, speeding through the Scottish Highlands, began to cast shadows on the ground as sunlight finally peeked over the hills and mountains which it sped through. As the sky shifted from lilac to gentle pink, and then became touched with tendrils of blue, most sensible people on the train slept soundly. 

One passenger, however, seemed content to stare out her window, smiling as she watched the world slowly begin to awake.

As the train rounded a particularly large hill, a small village finally came into view, and Miranda perked up in her seat. Quickly tugging her curly chestnut hair into a bun, she began gathering the few books she'd scattered about the cabin in the hours of her journey. Shoving _Erthwop's Astronomical Theory_ into her large carpet bag, she began to drag her trunk down from the rack as the whistle sounded.

“Hogsmeade! Hogsmeade next stop!” The conductor walked purposefully down the aisle, knocking on cabins with the right placard. Biting her lip, Miranda did one last check over her luggage and began to make her way to the exit doors and the tiny village beyond.

* * *

Gathering her woolen shawl close around her shoulders, Miranda looked up at the large stone castle she had been walking toward for the better part of twenty minutes. The trek was long, but comforting. Her long dress and wrap were enough to keep her warm, even if it was early morning in Scotland. And there was something to be said for treading familiar ground.

Unable to stop the small grin from forming, Miranda gazed at Hogwarts as she continued up the paved path.

It had been ten years since she'd seen her old school, and they'd been years well spent, but seeing the structure rise up from the trees, mist from the moors making everything hazy and mystical, she had to admit it felt just a bit comforting.

When she finally reached the imposing front doors, she took a second to pull her shawl a little tighter, unable to stop herself from worrying at the hem with her fingers. She was quite a bit earlier than her letter had said, she hoped the doors were open.

Lifting a hand, Miranda had barely touched the wood when it swung open seamlessly. Light as a breeze, she sensed the familiar old magic of the castle's wards, all petrichor and dust motes.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling and giving a loving pat to the wood as she slipped inside.

The Entrance Hall was unsurprisingly empty, as it was a few days until students were scheduled to arrive, but Miranda was still struck by the beautiful silence of the place. As she looked around, taking in the familiar atmosphere, she reveled in the sound of her heels echoing against the stone floor.

Unable to stop a breathy little laugh, she walked over to the nearest painting. It usually depicted several nymphs dancing in a forest glen. Though, for now, the occupants all lay asleep in a tangle of colorful limbs and flowers and hair. It had always been one of her favorites, and it grounded her a bit to see it again.

“Good morning, Professor Devlin.”

At the sound of another voice, Miranda gave a small squeak and whipped around, nearly dropping her bag in surprise. Headmaster Dumbledore stood at the bottom of the stairs, giving her what would have been an innocently calm expression, if not for the mischievous twinkle in his eye. She hadn’t heard or felt him approach.

Pressing a hand over her pounding heart, Miranda gave the headmaster a weak smile and inclined her head. Now that she clapped eyes on him, she was comforted by the familiar feeling of his magic, shining wet ink and polished brass.

“Good morning, Headmaster Dumbledore,” she greeted. “I'm sorry, I know I wasn’t expected until lunch, but I had the opportunity for an earlier train.”

“It's quite alright my dear,” Dumbledore smiled, “Your office and rooms have been ready for your arrival since last night. I'd be happy to walk with you to them, if you would like the company.”

“Please, sir,” she returned his grin, albeit shakily as she was unable to stop the heat rising in her cheeks. Speaking to her old headmaster as a near equal was as disconcerting now as it had been two months ago when he'd first offered her this job.

They walked through the halls in relative silence, and Miranda couldn't stop herself from gawking just a bit. Even though the scenery was so very familiar, seeing it through the eyes of an adult made all the difference.

“Are you alright, Professor? You're rather quiet.” Dumbledore's soft voice caused her to turn toward him. Seeing the kind smile on his face caused her to relax just a bit.

“I'm alright, sir. It's just... quite a change, walking through these halls as a teacher rather than a student.” Motioning to the hallway, she shrugged. “You were my Headmaster not too long ago, and Professor Flitwick my house head. Now you're walking me to my office and calling me 'Professor' it. . . It's a bit jarring to face the reality of stepping into those shoes. Does that make sense?”

They turned the corner into the next hallway, Dumbledore keeping pace with her even when she slowed, recognizing the heavy wooden door at the very end.

“I think it makes perfect sense, Professor Devlin.” 

Lowering his voice, Dumbledore leaned in conspiratorially. “But be rest assured, if we did not think you could do the job, we would not have asked you.”

Giving her a small wink, he stepped away and produced a key from his robes. Smiling, he pressed it into her hand. “Now, this is your office key. There are magical locks you can place on the door of course, but this should be simplest. As you are aware, to get to the top of the Astronomy Tower, simply head up the stairs just over there. Your quarters are just below your office, there should be a staircase inside for you to access, if you remember?”

Miranda recalled the wrought iron stairs curling down on the edge of Professor Sinistra's office during the time she'd spent there.

“Yes, sir,” she said, feeling a nervous sweat beginning on the back of her neck. Dumbledore clearly chose to ignore her apprehension, as he nodded and began to walk away. But at the last moment he turned, and that mischievous tilt had returned to his grin.

“Oh yes, and one more thing. Staff are required to be at all but one breakfast, lunch, and dinner per week at the start of term. Meaning you would do well to join us for breakfast in a few hours, Professor. Afterward, you and I can discuss more details of the coming term with Filius.”

Before she could answer with more than a nod, the headmaster turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Miranda to look back and forth between her luggage, her new office door, and the key now sitting heavy in her hand.

* * *

* * *

Since Dumbledore left, Miranda had showered, tamed her hair into a more stylish messy bun, put on some subtle makeup, and begun unpacking her books. After all, busy hands kept her mind from wandering too much.

But after two hours, she was beginning to feel the meager amount of sleep she'd gotten dragging at her eyelids. Frowning, she re-adjusted her dress for what had to be the millionth time. She felt confident that she should manage to get a better night's sleep that night, even if she had to take a potion to do it.

Miranda reached into her bag, pulling out something she always kept on her, but never used as much as she would have liked. Letting herself sigh, she turned her wand over in her hands. Seven and a half inches, black walnut, unicorn hair core. It wasn't a terribly unique wand, but she adored it. It had been enough to get her through Hogwarts, albeit barely and with more than a little cleverness on her part. 

But more than that, she had to keep up appearances, so she tucked the wand in her mess of a bun, as she had every day since she was 11.

Slipping her heeled boots back on, Miranda left her office and locked the door behind her. The castle had started to come awake now, though the absence of students could certainly still be felt. Still, it was peaceful in its own way. Birdsong echoed across the lake through open windows, and paintings wandered freely between frames, taking notice of the new professor wandering the halls. Many greeted her, some even by name, and by the time she reached the Great Hall, Miranda almost felt comfortable hearing the title Professor directed at her.

Seeing the doors to the Great Hall wide open, Miranda could just hear the sound of voices and clinking of cutlery. It seemed the walk from her tower had taken longer than expected. Entering the Great Hall, she was greeted with an unexpected sight. 

Instead of four long tables, there was a single shorter one in the front of the room. Here, most professors seemed already awake and eating, perfectly content with the close-quarters. Dumbledore sat at the head, drinking tea and helping himself to some kippers.

As though he sensed her presence, the Headmaster looked up just as Miranda came to a stop just inside the door.

“Ah! Perfect timing Professor Devlin, please, sit,” he motioned to the table, “I just finished telling the staff of your arrival. I believe you're familiar with most of our professors already,” Dumbledore motioned again to the occupants of the table. “Though we've had a few additions since your time here. Professor Vector, our Arithmancy teacher, who I believe you remember from your school days, and Professor Snape, our resident Potions master and Head of Slytherin house.”

Septima grinned and gave a small wave from her seat, but Professor Snape, who seemed vaguely familiar to Miranda, gave her little acknowledgment other than a dark-eyed look. She remembered him a bit from her time at school, in her brother’s house but a few years ahead. He seemed as bad tempered as ever.

Giving them both a polite nod, she slipped between Madam Pomfry and Septima. The latter wasted no time brushing her long black braid aside so she could bump their shoulders together. At the touch, Miranda sensed her friend’s magic surge slightly in a flutter of bird wings and chalk dust.

“Glad to see you, Mira,” Septima said, giving her old friend a grin. Miranda gave a small, but heartfelt smile back.

“It's good to see you too, love,” she answered. Septima grabbed a platter of sausage and passed it to her friend.

“Here, eat, you're gonna need a good meal if today's your orientation.” Dutifully scooping food onto her plate, Miranda must have let the surprise show on her face, as her friend continued. “Oh don't look so worried, the headmaster is just going to ramble off enough information about rules and proper conduct and points and students to make your head spin. Then it's just curriculum prep. I've got a bit to do, but I can come by before dinner to review it with you, if you'd like.”

Miranda felt her shoulders tense a bit. “Yes please.”

Septima's next words were drowned out as what could only be described as a wail.

Everyone at the table gawked a bit as Professor Trelawney shuffled across the room, arms outstretched, shawl and beads draping all over her thin frame. Miranda nearly choked as the tide of Sybill’s magic washed over her, much more overwhelming than Septima’s. The air of patchouli and dried lavender lay heavy on her tongue as Sybill continued to wail.

“Oh Miranda! I foresaw when Dumbledore told us of a new Astronomy professor, that you were coming to join our ranks. It's truly wonderful to have you here again, as a fellow believer in the third-eye,” draping herself over Miranda's shoulders, Sybill continued to happily fuss, and Miranda had to fight the urge to laugh.

“I see you're doing well, Sybill. It's good to see you again,” pulling away, Miranda gave her other old friend a grin, watching her wipe a tear from beneath her coke-bottle glasses.

Sybill grinned enigmatically, seemingly overcome with joy, and sat across the table from Miranda and Septima. Though she had to rather forcefully squeeze between Flitwick and an extremely unenthused Professor Snape. Helping herself to toast and eggs, Sybill seemed ready to pepper Miranda with questions before a small noise brought things to a stop.

Dumbledore softly raised an aged hand and cleared his throat. Immediately the table quieted, the professors continuing to sip tea and nibble as Dumbledore addressed them.

“Now that we have all settled, let us have a short introduction. As you all are aware, Professor Devlin is our new Astronomy teacher.”

He inclined his head at her, and Miranda felt herself flush as everyone followed his gaze.

Dumbledore continued. “Additionally, Professor Quirinus Quirrell will be returning from his sabbatical this afternoon, and taking the post of Defence teacher.”

This seemed like nothing new, and the staff gave no reaction. Then, Dumbledore sat back, steepling his fingers. “However. There is something left for us to discuss, particularly about the new students that shall be joining us this term.” 

With his words, the atmosphere shifted all at once, and Miranda felt a strange cocktail of excitement and uneasiness present at the table. But Dumbledore continued calmly. “Amongst our first years, as you all are no doubt aware, is Mister Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived.”

Mira bit her lip, trying not to snort. She’d always thought that was a horribly silly moniker, particularly for a young boy. But she restrained herself, trying to look professionally attentive as Dumbledore continued to speak. “Mister Potter, famous though he may be, should have a similar experience here as any other student. I trust all of you to keep your wits about you, and give this boy an expected amount of education.”

“But,” the headmaster clapped his hands together, “That is business left for the first, as the students will not be arriving until then. For now, we'll simply prepare for another year. Professor’s Devlin and Flitwick, when you have finished your breakfast, please come find me in my office. To the rest of you, I bid good morning, and good luck.”

With a small bow and kind smile, Dumbledore swept from the room, leaving the rest to finish their morning.


	3. Move and Countermove

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A discussion with Dumbledore leaves Miranda reeling

“So, Professor Devlin, now that we have signed the paperwork, and reviewed school policy. There is one more matter we must discuss. Though it may be a bit daunting,” he said, leaning back and steepling his fingers. Miranda nodded, unable to stop herself from shifting uncomfortably in her seat at the change of tone. 

“Professor Flitwick, though he wishes to continue teaching at Hogwarts, has alerted me that he has been interested in finding someone to take over his title as head of Ravenclaw in the coming years...

“Circumstances being what they are, and my alerting him to your offer of employment, he has requested that you should also receive an additional offer, if you were to take the job. As Filius steps down in the coming years, he has named you to replace him.”

Miranda choked. Her as a professor was one thing, but a Head of Ravenclaw? This was starting to get to be too much. As she sat, coughing and wiping tears from her eyes, Filius gently pat her arm and followed up Dumbledore’s words. 

“We don’t mean to overwhelm you dear. I plan on remaining as a professor, and we would let you settle in of course! Should you take this responsibility, you would shadow me for the next few years, sitting in on House meetings and the like. I wouldn’t hand it off until you were more comfortable.”

“I- I’m going to have to think about that.” Miranda managed. Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. 

“Very well. Do you have any additional questions for myself or Filius?”

Dumbledore looked at her over his steepled hands, studying the newest addition to his staff carefully. He could see Miranda sitting on her fingers, clearly a bit stunned from the newest piece of information, and already had a feeling he knew the answer.

“Yes I have several questions,” she answered almost immediately, Despite her obvious conflict, when she lifted her head curiosity shined in her deep blue eyes. _Some things never change._ Dumbledore motioned for her to continue. “You mentioned when you offered me this job that you had some sort of training process for out of practice teachers. What would that be?”

“Ah, yes.” Now that she mentioned it, he did remember the archaic policy. “There is an old school practice, completely optional, for new teachers. If you would be so inclined, each year you would be assigned to a subject. You would then observe and possibly assist a single class with the professor of that subject, meeting with that professor each week to discuss what you've learned in observing them. You would do this for your first seven years here. Each year following the same class as they grow, though observing different methods, so on and so forth until you’re comfortable.”

Dumbledore gave her a gentle sort of look over his glasses. “It is, however, a somewhat aged process,” and he couldn't help but smile a bit at the irony of his statement. “Which is why it is optional. Few teachers bother with it, and you would not be expected to partake.”

“Actually I would like to do that.” Miranda responded immediately, causing her colleagues to look at her in slight shock. The color rose in her cheeks at their attention. “I agree that it's certainly an outdated idea. But I really think I could benefit from watching my fellow professors at work, I would never pass up an opportunity to learn, particularly since I am rather. . . lacking in experience.”

“It will cloud your schedule quite a bit,” Dumbledore responded. “You will be kept extremely busy, Professor, think carefully before you make this decision.”

Miranda nodded, but he could see on her face that her mind seemed made up.

“I'll think about it until the first day of term. A few days should be time enough, don’t you agree? Besides, half my classes will be in the middle of the night, so I'll get a bit more time than most, should I choose to take this on.”

“I suppose so,” Dumbledore hummed. Ravenclaws always were so very determined when it came to mastering a field. “Lastly, your training with Filius. He will be grooming you to take over his position as house head in a few years time. For this, you will regularly be expected to observe when the heads of house conduct business together, and Filius will often call for you when addressing problems with students. I also encourage you to get to know the students of Ravenclaw, they will soon be your charges.”

Miranda just gave a small nod, blinking as she clearly processed this information. “Very well. If you have no more questions Professor Devlin, I believe there are several books on her curriculum that Professor Sinistra left you in your office, and Filius and I have some matters we need to discuss.”

As the iron lock clicked shut behind her, Albus blinked at the serious, albeit soft question that came from Filius.

“Aurora didn’t really recommend Miranda for the job, did she Albus?”

Albus Dumbledore slowly turned his polite smile towards his Charms Professor. “Whatever makes you say that, Filius?”

“You may have been the headmaster of this school, but Miranda was among my house,” Flitwick didn’t seem upset, but he had a familiar analytical glint in his eye. “Her and Aurora were close, but Aurora doesn’t give recommendations. And. . . half the wizarding world recognises the name Devlin. Hiring her is a wise move, to be sure.”

Unable to help himself, Albus’ smile turned more genuine. “Filius, there are times I am reminded that your protective streak nearly placed you in Gryffindor. . . I will admit a certain interest in adding her to the staff. Particularly with her family’s connections, as well as her personal ability. Weyccan’s are hard to come by, particularly in recent times. They withdraw more and more each year from our modern wizarding society, and her natural connection to the ebb and flow of magic will be an asset in the coming times.”

“I am not worried you’ll let her get hurt, Albus,” Filius spoke carefully, “but I should warn you just the same. My students are not the type to be ruled, and Miranda is one of the best examples of that. I’ll step down as House Head to put her where you need her to be. But keep in mind she will still give you plenty of trouble!”

A quiet chuckle rose in Dumbledore’s chest. “I am not too concerned on that particular front. But thank you Filius.”

* * *

Miranda waited patiently for Flitwick to finish with his meeting. As much as she tried to keep a level head, she was still reeling.

“Miranda?” Flitwick blinked at her standing in the hall.

“Professor! I was wondering if you might accompany me back to my rooms I. . . I find myself a bit overwhelmed this afternoon.”

Flitwick nodded, coming to keep pae with her. As they walked the hallways, Miranda could practically feel the questions bubbling in her chest. But she also knew that, as an adult and now a colleague, she ought to be tactful.

“Professor Flitwick?” she asked quietly as they climbed the Grand Staircase.

“Oh please, my dear, call me Filius,” he said. “Could I help you with something?”

“Several things.” Flitwick gave a delighted little chuckle at the eagerness in her voice.

“You always were so very curious, one of the most inquisitive minds I've known. What are you wondering about?” Even with her height and heels, Miranda could see the little bounce in Flitwick's step as he walked.

“If you're not retiring, why make me head of Ravenclaw?” she asked, unable to stop the confusion from creeping into her voice. “I have little experience teaching. Even if the transfer won't technically happen for a few years, I'm-” unprepared, overwhelmed, terrified. “. . . new to Hogwarts.”

“Hm,” Flitwick tugged at his cotton-ball fluff of beard as he thought. “Well, you're by far the most suited one for the job. Of all the houses, finding a head for Ravenclaw is the most difficult. Rest assured, our house is full of scholars, philosophers, and other great minds, but leading and administration are not usually our fields of choice.” 

He looked up at her to grin a bit sheepishly. “Similarly, I find myself wanting more and more to concentrate on my research. Which is why I'm continuing to teach, but preparing the mantle for you. Professors Vector and Trelawny are brilliant, in their own ways, but neither of them would be very happy heading our house. You on the other hand, will do quite well.”

“You really think so?” Miranda asked, unable to stop herself from preening a bit at the high praise. They finally reached the corridor of her office, and Flitwick came to a full stop, giving her a serious look that was almost out of place on his rosy face.

“I am absolutely positive, my dear,” he said. Bowing his head, he smiled. “I had best get back to my own office, but good luck!”

* * *

Miranda opened the door to her office, still silently mulling over everything she had just heard. It had been hours since she'd returned, and yet she felt no less prepared than she had that morning. Perhaps a cup of tea and some curriculum revisal would put her in better spirits. Miranda's thoughts were quickly derailed by the sight of a small figure standing in front of her desk, calmly unpacking her telescope.

“Um, can I help you?” she asked.

The small house elf jumped, clutching the eyepiece to their chest. They were older than most house elves Miranda had seen, but their tea towel was very clean, and they had a slightly stern air about them. Their large silvery eyes blinked as they studied her, before sweeping into a bow so deep their long nose nearly brushed the ground.

“Apologies, Netta did not mean to startle Mistress Devlin. Netta was instructed to begin unpacking their Miss’ things.”

“I’m sorry?” Miranda's eyes widened, they couldn't be serious.

“Yes, ma'am. Netta is here to assist the new Mistress of Astronomy. As elves before them have.” 

Mercy of the gods, today was becoming totally overwhelming. Walking to the nearest chair, Miranda sat herself down and motioned to the other seat.

“Will you. . . sit with me a moment? I have to think about some things, and if- you- Well. I think we might need to talk.” 

Netta's eyes widened, then narrowed, but after a second they hopped up into the chair across from her. They tilted their head back to regard her closely.

“Mistress is very kind to elves,” they said. Miranda couldn't tell if that was a compliment or not.

“I'm . . .” she trailed off. she had to choose these words with care. “I'm not used to having a personal house elf, so you'll have to excuse me if I'm accidentally rude,” she said.

Netta just tilted their head, still clearly listening, so Miranda took that as a sign to continue. “I know that elves take pride in. . . assisting others. Honestly, I don't totally know how I feel about that. And I know that oftentimes house elves will punish themselves if they think those they serve are displeased. And that’s something I'm definitely not comfortable with.”

Netta narrowed their eyes again. “Mistress does not like the conduct of Hogwarts house elves?”

“No! No you're all fine,” Miranda amended. This conversation was definitely not going how she'd thought. Offending the house elves was not something she felt like doing her first day. “It's not that at all. I just, if you're going to be working with me specifically, then we're going to need to set some ground rules?”

Netta remained silent, merely tilting their head again. So Miranda continued, holding up a single finger. “If you think something has. . . upset me. Ask, and I will always answer. Taking discipline into your own hands without discussing it with me first will absolutely make me upset. Is that alright?”

Netta thought about that for a moment, but eventually they nodded.

Miranda sighed, she couldn't think of much else. The days events were starting to get to her. “Well good. And, Gods I hate to say it but please be careful with my things. Not that I don't appreciate the help, of course. And none of it is really dangerous, but many of the things I have are very fragile.”

Netta gave Miranda a look that said I've been at this much longer than you have, youngling. But they nodded again. “Netta will take care with Mistress's things.”

“Thank you, Netta,” Miranda gave them a smile. “Now, I'm going to get some work done. If you insist on unpacking for me, I. . . I'd appreciate it.”

Netta gave another deep bow, and the two set to work.

* * *

Quite a while later, and Netta had successfully unpacked Miranda's telescope, books, clothes, and other belongings. There wasn't much, but she was extremely grateful for the help. Netta left shortly after, possibly a bit uncomfortable with Miranda's insistent thanks, leaving her to head down to lunch.

Halfway down the steps, she realized she'd forgotten her wand and shawl. Cursing under her breath, Miranda looked back up the moving staircase, and was nearly going to turn around until her stomach growled in protest. Well, being a bit chilly never killed anyone.

Lunch was another simple affair, the staff table seemingly forgone for the smaller, closer-knit set-up that had been there that morning. As Septima talked happily about her latest Arithmancy equation, Miranda paused as she reached for a sandwich, feeling a slight shift in the castle's wards. Someone new was in the building.

Concentrating, she branched out to sense the magical energies of whoever was in the entrance hall. And yet when she reached, she felt only a tight coil of magic, like it was locked behind something. Occlumency wards? Or perhaps some sort of protective charm?

“H-H-H-Hello?” A weak, stuttering voice drifted into the Hall.

From his seat, Dumbledore smiled. “Professor Quirrell! We’ve just begun lunch!”

Glancing over the rim of her teacup, Miranda watched as a whip-thin, slouching wizard crept into the room. His footsteps were nearly silent, and there was a tremble to his shoulders that made her feel an instinctual bit of pity. Was he ill?

“A-Apologies for being, ah, l-l-late,” his words came out half stuttered, half forced, and Miranda thought he looked quite young. “The t-t-train was delayed.”

“It is quite alright, Quirinus, please join us.” Dumbledore swept a hand over the staff table.

Quirrell did just that, slipping between Miranda and Madam Pomfry with trembling hands. Turning toward Miranda, he adjusted his turban. “H-Hello, y-y-you must be the new pr-pr-professor.”

“Ah, yes,” smiling politely, she held out a hand. “Miranda Devlin, pleasure.”

“Quirinus,” he responded, placing shivering fingers in her own.

Miranda felt herself freeze for a moment as the touch finally brought Quirinus’ magic into her senses. The initial brush of him was something quicksilver bright, and some kind of dried flowers, but. . . there was something squirming beneath his skin. Miranda felt something akin to fear rise up in her, and she found herself dropping his hand.

His brows furrowed in slight puzzlement, and Miranda dropped her eyes, scrambling for an answer. “Sorry, your hands are a bit cold.” Smiling sheepishly, she turned back to her tea.

Seemingly satisfied, he began helping himself to a spot of food. Frowning, Miranda studied the dregs of her drink. What in the seventh hell was that?


	4. Misbehaving Books

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A confrontation with Snape throws a wrench into things

For the rest of that evening and most of the next morning, Miranda saw little other than the inside of her office. She had been making headway revising the curriculum Sinistra left behind, tidying up the office, and preparing her classroom. There was a lot of work to be done, but she loved to dive completely into things, and it helped her settle her nerves. Netta had also been busy, helping by unpacking the few potions supplies Miranda bothered to bring and keeping her tower tidy.

She had to admit, it felt much more comfortable to be working in a room with her herbs drying and incense burning. Some would say her office was too busy, almost every surface overflowed with plants, books, candles, and strange trinkets. But she liked it this way. The original starkness of the office had made her feel like a bug on glass.

A knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts and Miranda glanced up. Odd, it was early for visitors, and Netta didn't knock.

“Come in,” she called. She blinked when the door swung open to reveal a rather sour-looking Professor Snape. “Good morning Professor Snape, is everything alright?”

He swept into the room, lips curling slightly as he perused her bookshelf. He seemed content to ignore her for the moment, which was idiotic considering he was in her office. Pursing her lips in an effort not to scoff, she turned back to her work. If he wanted to play the waiting game, she'd be more than content to waste his time, but she had work to do. As she waited, she reached for his magic with her senses, but felt nothing. No matter how she concentrated, it was like he was standing in thick fog. That was two professors she felt using Occlumency now. Curiouser and curiouser.

“Actually, Professor Devlin, it’s afternoon now,” Snape drawled, causing Miranda to glance up. “You missed lunch, and the headmaster has bid me to tell you not to try his patience again.”

Miranda sincerely doubted the Headmaster had phrased it that way, but she knew that hardly mattered. Bugger, it was a bit too early to be making those sorts of mistakes.

“I'm sorry,” she said, biting her lip. “I got caught up in my work, and must have forgotten to keep an eye on the time. I'll be certain not to do it again.”

“Perhaps you should invest in a clock, if you cannot do something so simple as tell time yourself,” Professor Snape said, giving her a look that was positively acidic. Standing there in front of her large window, he looked like a living storm cloud, all dark robes and sneering in her bright sunny tower. Miranda blinked at the clear insult, but bit her cheek to keep her temper.

“I appreciate the advice, Professor Snape.” She couldn't help the slightly biting note creeping into her voice. “I'm sorry you had to go so far out of your way to tell me such a simple instruction.” 

He had resumed studying her mantle of skulls, before shifting about the room. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed him pausing over her Grimoire. 

It was a simple book, the cover deep blue with accents of gold and brass, but Miranda knew it thrummed with her magic. After all, it held all her spells and much of her research inside.

But, resting as it was on a small table in the sunlight, it seemed harmless, and Miranda didn’t feel the urge to tell Snape what it was. As she watched, he reached for it casually with his left hand. But to both of their surprise, the book flew off the table before he could even brush the spine. In a split second, it landed with a deep thump on the floor halfway across the room, sitting benignly on the wood as if it meant to be there.

Miranda felt her blood turn to ice as she watched her book flee from his attempted touch. Her Grimoire was warded to only do that when the Darkest of magics came near. Eyes darting between him and the book, she swept from her chair, snatching it off the ground before he could step closer.

“Apologies,” Miranda clutched her book to her chest, wide eyes studying his face. He was studying her as well, black eyes boring holes into her. “My books usually behave themselves better, but they can be a bit. . . temperamental at times. Was, um - Was there anything else you needed from me?”

Professor Snape's eyes narrowed, and Miranda flung up her Occlumency wards in response. Like a cold slide of ice upon a hot table, she felt his magic brush against her own. But she shoved him back, cloaking her thoughts in woodsmoke, so thick and heavy it could choke a person. 

In return, she let herself try and sense him out, but she felt her meagre attempt deflect immediately. His lips formed a thin, furious line, and she blanched.

“. . .There will be a meeting with the house heads and the headmaster after dinner. Do not be late. It would be bad form, particularly for Flitwick's successor,” he sneered the word as if it sat filthy on his tongue before sweeping out of the room. As the wood door swung shut behind him, Miranda let out a breath, turning her book over in her hands. Oh Gods.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Miranda seated herself at dinner that night with more than a bit of anxiety. She'd been sure to leave her tower early this time, so as not to make that morning's mistake, but that also meant there was a seat open across from her and Vector. Quirinus quickly slipped into the place, and Miranda bit her cheek so she wouldn’t curse. She’d had several. . . hopeful wizards and witches alike approach her over the years, but she’d never had much interest in such distractions.

Despite his soft, meek personality, Quirrell seemed oddly tenacious in how he kept seeking her out. Combined with his strange, wriggling magic, Miranda couldn’t help but be uneasy in his presence.

“Pr-Pr-Professor Devlin! We m-m-m-missed you at l-lunch earlier,” he directed a shy grin at her, and Miranda fought the urge to wince.

“Ah. Yes, I got caught up in my work and didn't notice the time,” Miranda kept her words short, but polite, almost immediately turning to serve herself some chicken.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Professor Snape sneer, and felt a small shiver run up her spine.

“You were in R-R-Ravenclaw, yes? It’s d-d-delightful to have another of our house on staff. J-just del-delightful.”

Keeping her eyes down, Miranda felt herself flush slightly. “Thank you, it’s, um. Quite exciting to be back at Hogwarts. Though some things have certainly changed in my absence.”

“Oh! Well if you wou-would like. I c-c-c-can always give you a t-tour,” Quirrell looked unfortunately hopeful at that, and Miranda fought the urge to wince at the shiver that sent down her spine. Something was wrong with this man.

“Unfortunately Quirinus, I believe Professor Devlin will be joining the Head of House meeting tonight,” Professor McGonagall's stiff Scottish accent cut through the conversation. “I doubt she'll have the time for such a rendezvous. Nor you, considering that term starts so soon, and you’ve only just arrived yesterday. Yes?”

A man such as Quirrell practically wilted under McGonagall’s sternest glare. As he started making semi-apologetic mutterings of ‘oh but of course’ and ‘perhaps another time,’ Miranda shot the head of Gryffindor a grateful look, and smiled when she got a subtle wink in return.

* * * * * * * * * * *

“- and with that decided, is there anything more we needed to cover for the coming year?”

Miranda sat stiff in her seat as the headmaster closed out the first house head meeting of the term. The students would be arriving tomorrow night, and it seemed the final preparations were coming together. She ought to have been paying more close attention. But with the afternoon’s encounter haunting her thoughts, she could practically feel Snape’s heavy glare from his seat across the room.

Keeping her gaze on her hands, Miranda waited until discussion truly finished and the others started to clear out before catching the headmaster’s eye.

“Ah yes, Professor Devlin, we need to discuss your schedule,” Dumbledore smiled, motioning the others on. Miranda breathed a small sigh of relief, that gave her an excellent reason to stay behind.

Once the door shut, Dumbledore motioned her to the seat closest to his desk. Miranda gratefully moved to it, and as she sat, Dumbledore spoke.

“You're committed to this archaic process then, Professor Devlin?”

“Yes, sir,”she answered promptly. She wanted to regain her footing as quickly as possible in the classroom. More than that, she wanted to be good at this.

“Very well,” Dumbledore seemed unsurprised, and made a quick note on a paper by his elbow. “You’ll begin with Filius then, overseeing his first years.”

Miranda nodded, she’d heard the slight dismissal in his voice but she stayed seated.

“Headmaster. . .” she wrapped her fingers in the hem of her shawl and dipped her head. “There were. . . a few other matters I wished to discuss.”

“Of course, is everything alright?” he set down his quill and steepled his fingers, giving her his full attention.

Miranda tried to meet his gaze but found herself too nervous, feeling her heart flutter against her ribs. Instead she settled her stare at a point just over his shoulder. “Headmaster. Earlier today, when you sent Professor Snape to tell me I’d missed lunch, I. . . Something happened.”

She quickly described the conversation in her tower. She barely touched on Snape’s rudeness, after all, that really wasn’t the point. But when she described her Grimoire fleeing his touch, Dumbledore’s eyebrows lifted. “You see, sir, I have my Grimoire warded. So that-” here her voice cracked, and she paused.

Taking a slow shaky breath, she met the headmaster’s eyes. “So that it cannot be touched by those who use Dark Magic.”

Dumbledore’s eyebrows lowered suddenly, and he seemed to be contemplating her words carefully.

“Please, sir,” Miranda continued, realizing how this must sound. “I don’t mean to come off as. . . disruptive. But if my wards were activated by Professor Snape-”

“Describe to me exactly what occurred, Professor,” Dumbledore cut her off. His voice was serious but his tone was still gentle, and his thoughtful expression remained unchanged. “Begin with how your ward works. Then please repeat the exact events leading up to and including the moment with your book.”

Miranda described everything again, much slower and more carefully. First with her book. It was a complex wandless charm, nigh undetectable to most modern wizards. But it took a long ritual to fully complete, which she had done on her seventeenth birthday with her mother.

Then she re-described the events in her office. Professor Dumbledore occasionally interjected casual questions. Where was she in the room, was she sitting or standing, where was Snape facing, and so on. For some, Miranda had to pause and recall the exact detail he asked for, but he let her take her time, never pressing further. There were several times she felt his Legilimency brush against her mind, but she forced herself to stay calm, letting her feelings of genuine concern shine through.

“-then, he just sort of reached out for it, like he wanted to flip through it. But before he could touch it-”

“What arm did he reach with, Professor Devlin?” Dumbledore’s soft voice spoke again, and she paused, taking a moment to remember.

“Left, I think,” she answered eventually, picturing Snape in profile. After a moment she nodded. “Yes, I’m certain it was his left.”

Dumbledore hummed, as he had before, and motioned for her to continue. There were no more questions after that, and once she finished, silence fell between them.

Miranda fought the urge to fidget. She’d just accused another teacher, one more distinguished and experienced than her, of heavy tampering with Dark Magic. If Dumbledore didn’t believe her, she may have thrown her job away with both hands.

“Miranda,” Dumbledore’s voice pulled her from her heavy thoughts. She locked eyes with the man behind the desk, and was shocked by the seriousness in his face. “There is much you do not know, and much I wish to tell you. But due to certain circumstances, I am currently unable to speak as freely as I may like.”

He held up a single finger. “However, what you may know is that in the past wizarding war, Professor Severus Snape was once among the ranks of those called Death Eaters.”

Miranda’s whole body jolted. Gods above, the man had been up to his neck in dark practices, and the headmaster was allowing this man around children?

“But,” Dumbledore’s voice stopped her spiraling thoughts. “At a crucial point in the war, with great personal risk, Severus switched sides, and acted as a spy. Due to his invaluable help, many lives were saved, and horrors prevented.”

Dumbledore paused. He didn’t move, but suddenly the crackling fire glinted off his glasses, and he took on an invisible, oppressive sort of air. Miranda swallowed as he spoke again. “In light of this, I do not expect you to trust Professor Snape, nor count him a friend. But realize, Miranda, that I very much do.”

“Yes sir,” Miranda’s response was slightly automatic, she’d agreed to just about anything Dumbledore said, if he was staring at her in such a frightening way. But also, thinking on it, she understood. If Snape had made past mistakes and was trying to amend for them, she supposed she could give him the benefit of the doubt.

Dumbledore smiled, and the air lifted once again. “Thank you for your understanding Professor Devlin, and for your subtlety in approaching me with this matter. Is there anything else you wished to discuss?”

She thought for a moment on Quirrell.

“No sir,” Miranda responded, rising from her chair. Her accusations there would be truly baseless. Before coming to Dumbledore, she would need far more data.

“In that case, I bid you goodnight,” Dumbledore nodded, which Miranda returned before hurrying out of the room.

Behind her, she did not see the look of deep contemplation pass over Dumbledore’s face.


	5. The First Feast

The final days before term held Miranda’s nose to the grindstone. Sinistra had been kind enough to leave her curriculum records behind, but Miranda still wanted to make lessons her own. That and she had her classroom to prepare, well, two really. Astronomy at Hogwarts was taught twice a week for earlier years, one afternoon lecture indoors and one evening class on the tower. Older students had only night lessons, but still, it left Miranda scrambling a bit for time.

But with Netta’s help they were able to get everything done with hours to spare. Miranda was pretty certain house elves, even Hogwarts ones, usually tried to do as much as they could while being as unseen as possible. But Miranda wasn’t a ‘usual’ sort of person in general, and luckily Netta seemed to realize that. While they clearly weren’t exactly comfortable forming a close working relationship with Miranda, they seemed to understand her personal discomfort with the idea of ‘good elves are neither seen nor heard.’

Sighing, Miranda shook herself from her deep thoughts and finished getting ready for the feast. The sun was setting, which meant students would be arriving soon. She was forcibly ignoring the strange nervous leaps her heart seemed to be doing, and took a deep calming breath as she ran her fingertips over her favorite shawl.

It had been a gift from her Aunt Nell from graduating Hogwarts, the fabric was a beautiful deep blackish blue, with small false gems sewn in and bewitched to glitter like real stars. As she brushed her hand over it, she felt the familiar tingle of her Auntie’s magic, like a light seabreeze and windchimes. Forcing down a wave of homesickness, Miranda forced herself to finish getting ready.

After securing her teacher's robes over her dress, and her wand in her hair, she headed up the stairs to her office and out the door.

Enjoying the last bit of quiet, Miranda dawdled just a bit. The moving staircases could be avoided if you needed to save time, but Miranda liked letting them have their fun every once in a while. 

Though she was sure she wouldn’t be late, it kept her calm and made the walk down to the Great Hall last. Once term had begun, she was pretty sure she’d be saying goodbye to her evenings.

The Great Hall was as opulent as ever, warm and inviting to all students coming back for the new term. Miranda’s eyes scanned the staff table as she made to take her seat. Sybil seemed to be absent, but the others were all chatting with each other. It seemed Miranda was one of the last to arrive.

As she seated herself between Septima and Flitwick- Filius, she needed to call him Filius - she heard the sounds of the front door creaking, followed by hundreds of feet shuffling up the front stairs.

“Just in the nick of time, my dear!” Filius squeaked, giving Miranda a little nudge from his seat. “Are you excited for your first start-of-term feast with us?”

“I’m-” the doors to the hall swung wide, and students began pouring in, “ a bit overwhelmed if I’m being honest.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Septima said, knocking their shoulders together. “We’ve got you, Mira.”

Exhaling slowly, Miranda put on her most dignified smile. “Thanks Septima.”

As the students got settled, Miranda saw Dumbledore lean over to his right. Gazing over the students, she noticed several were staring at her in curiosity. Miranda quickly rearranged her face into something more calm. Good impressions were worth her weight in gold.

Miranda felt her gaze almost seem to divide, looking upon this Hall as she had as a student, while now seeing it through the eyes of a teacher. Suddenly, all the faces at the four lower tables looked shockingly young to her. Gods, had she and her brother really been that small?

McGonagall swept from her seat, heading down the long length of the hall to retrieve the first years. At once, the buzz of chatter in the hall seemed to swell, and little snippets drifted up to the table.

“-Potter? Really? I thought they would tutor him privately or someth-”

“-do better in Charms this year, ey?”

“-luck he’ll be in our house. The Boy Who-”

“Your hair is so much short-”

Miranda turned her head to Septima, unable to keep a dry note from her face or tone. “There sure is a lot of nonsense surrounding this Potter boy, isn’t there?”

“Miranda,” Filius piped up from her other side. “The boy practically saved the wizarding world!”

“He didn’t seem to have a whole lot to do with it actually,” Miranda insisted, leaning her chin on her hand. “Though leave it to modern wizards to sensationalize such trifles.”

Both Flitwick and Professor Sprout scoffed at Miranda’s words, but before they could say any more, the doors swung open, and Minerva began leading a little queue of tiny children up the aisle toward the sorting hat.

The buzz of chatter fell inordinately quiet, and Miranda had to try not to roll her eyes. She hoped all this posturing hadn’t gone to the boy’s head in all this time.

Miranda remained calm as the Sorting Hat got through it’s usual song, and the process began. Clapping when she ought to, and giving any twitchy eleven-year-olds who glanced her way a comforting smile, she tried not to appear utterly bored with the ceremony.

“Potter, Harry!” called McGonagall, and the hall swelled with muttering as a tiny boy slouched forward. Miranda frowned slightly at the hesitant set to his shoulders, and the way his uniform hung a bit on his twiggy frame. At closer inspection, it seemed like his glasses may have been broken many times and taped back together.

Before she could help it, she reached out just a hesitant touch of magic as he sat the hat on his head.

Miranda’s frown deepened as she felt his magic. It was there certainly, it glittered, like fresh cut grass and sunlight through a window, but there was a fragileness to it that she didn’t like. She focused just a bit closer, unaware of how she was staring. If she was to name it, the boy’s magic was like a spider-webbed glass, tension was holding it together, but handled too roughly it may truly shatter.

“Illness?” she muttered to herself, catching a look from Filius, but she waved him off. Magic could only be damaged like that slowly over time. What exactly had happened to this poor dear?

The hall continued to sit in silence for another few seconds, and Miranda felt another twist, ah. A hatstall, much like herself. She wondered what two houses he was caught between. But she didn’t have to wonder for long, as the hat finally shouted, “GRYFFINDOR!”

The Gryffindor table burst into raucous, floor-shaking applause. As Mr. Potter hesitantly slipped into a seat, several students leaned forward to shout and clap him on the back. Well, they certainly didn’t have to worry about him being accepted.

“Miranda,” Septima poked a thin finger into her shoulder. “Stop staring at the boy.”

“Hm?” Miranda turned to her friend, before flushing as she realized she’d been caught. “Oh, sorry I was just-”

“People-watching and being a problem-solver,” Septima scolded gently. “Yes, we’ve met.”

Restraining her urge to make a face, Miranda forced herself to concentrate on the remaining students.

The Sorting continued without much irregularity after that. Though Miranda couldn’t help but raise a brow as a ‘Malfoy, Draco’ was sorted into Slytherin without a second thought. 

Unlike some, she didn’t hold any sort of prejudice toward the house, her own twin belonged to it and she nearly did as well. But she recalled Malfoy Senior quite well from his time at the Ministry, mostly for his endless requests to have her fired. Ah, she could hear the letter to the Governors now. A particular phrase from a Muggle game her nieces liked floated through her mind: ‘Round Two, Fight!’

As the hat and stool were stored away and chatter just started to return to the hall, Dumbledore rose. Almost immediate silence fell again.

“Good evening, students,” he greeted, voice sounding particularly papery. Miranda had to wonder how much of that was an act. “It is my great pleasure to welcome some of you back, and to welcome some of you here for the first time. Before the Feast commences, I have a few announcements to give. Our caretaker, Mr. Filch, has asked me to remind you spells are forbidden in the corridors between classes, and has posted an extensive list of banned objects visible for viewing outside his office. The Forbidden Forest is off limits for all students—.” He directed a stern look toward the Gryffindor table. “—as is the third floor corridor, to any person who does not want to die a horrible death.”

“What?” Miranda breathed, turning toward Filius. “What is he talking about?”

Filius waved a hand at her. “In a moment dear.”

Narrowing her eyes at the dismissal, Miranda sat back. Odd indeed. She knew from her own time the staff’s tendency to exaggerate things to keep students away but. . . something about Dumbledore’s words rang with a Truth that shook her slightly. Oh, she was going to be too curious about this to leave it alone, wasn’t she?

Damn.

She perked up, returning to attention as Dumbledore nodded at her. “And, after Professor Sinistra’s retirement last year, let us welcome Professor Devlin to the post of Astronomy Professor.”

Miranda returned Dumbledore’s calm nod with all the dignity of a debutante, meanwhile she hid her trembling fingers under the table. There was another smattering of applause and a bit of chatter. But all in all it was a fairly subdued reaction. Though she saw some older students at the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables shift and mutter to each other.

The headmaster continued with his speech, quickly outlining conduct and a few smaller announcements, meanwhile Septima leaned over to whisper in Miranda’s ear.

“As painful as you expected?”

Miranda smiled, aware that several students were still watching her. “Ask me again after my first lecture.”

Septima snorted, covering her smile with her hand. Barely moving his head, Flitwick gave them a half-stern sort of look out of the corner of his eye, and they took the cue to quiet down.

* * *

Miranda walked back to her tower, after assisting Filius and the Ravenclaw Prefects in rounding up the new students, she was far from tired, but it was very late. Hesitating at the end of her corridor, she eyed the stairs down.

Gods her curiosity was going to get her killed one day, she sighed. Biting her lip, she started walking down the moving staircases, headed toward the third floor. The moving staircases were less than helpful, gently redirecting her before she could get close. But through some perseverance and admittedly intimate knowledge of shortcuts, she reached the landing. As her boots met the stone, she felt the castle wards respond, and she touched her fingers to a wall, sending a gentle wave back. 

“I mean no harm,” she breathed, letting her magic show her true intent. What on earth was here, if the castle itself was so on edge? Trying to branch out her senses down the corridor, she closed her eyes a moment.

“Professor Devlin?”

Jolting a bit, Miranda whipped around to see a familiar figure in a turban not two feet away. “Oh,” she placed a hand over her heart, mercy he was quiet. “Quirinus, good evening. I’m sorry I was just-”

“Somewhere you ought not to be,” he said, smiling slightly. “I can’t fault you. I am also curious about the castle’s newest secret.”

Miranda grinned sheepishly, unable to help the foundationless uneasiness ticking her spine. “Ravenclaw habits die hard, I suppose. Though, should you be here either? I thought you weren’t on patrols until tomorrow evening.”

“I will admit I ought to be elsewhere, but perhaps we can help each other?”

Instinct whirled to the front of Miranda’s brain as Quirrell took a few steps closer. Not good. Not good! Something’s wrong!

“After all, an intelligent. . . witch such as yourself is bound to have some fascinating insight.” Quirrell was almost completely in her space, and Miranda felt her back meet the stone wall as she attempted to step away.

“I’m - I’m sorry, Professor, but I’m not sure what you could be referring to.”

But her cagey response just made Quirrell smile, and her anxiety rose to dangerous levels. “I think you do. In fact-”

“Now now,” a deep drawl rang from a nearby alcove. “What would students think if they found the two of you in such a place?”

Snape stepped out of the shadows, glaring at Miranda, then Quirrell, then back.

“Ah, S-S-Severus, apologies. I’ll j-just be off to bed,” and suddenly Quirrell was gone.

Snape moved as if to follow, but then stopped before his full sneer turned on Miranda.

“Snape!” Miranda blinked, feeling like her stomach was full of pixies . “What are you doing here?”

“I am actually on patrol, unlike you, Devlin. Did you have cotton in your ears during the feast? Or did you willfully ignore Dumbledore’s statement that this hallway is forbidden?”

“Now, don’t slap my wrist like I’m a student, Professor Snape.” Miranda couldn’t help but answer back. “I’ll admit my curiosity got the better of me but-”

“Secretly meeting with Quirrell? Though I suppose that was simply coincidence,” his quirked brow and suspicious tone made her bite her cheek to keep her temper.

“Actually, yes,” she said, not having the patience to deal with his paranoia. “I imagine he was here for the same reason I was. No one informed me that this job came with the chance of, to quote the headmaster, ‘dying a most painful death;’ so I thought I might look into it. Goddess forbid the staff be informed of dangers in this school. Now if you’ll excuse me, Professor Snape, I’ll be off to bed."

Snape narrowed his eyes, and she felt his Legilimency brush at her magic again, but she waved his attempt off with ease, turning on her heel and ascending the stairs. _Damn that man._


	6. Term and Terminologies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for the first few classes of the year! This group has a few troublemakers, but nothing Miranda can't handle. . . for now.

“Good afternoon class!”

“Good afternoon, Professor Flitwick” the crowd of first-years chorused. From her seat at the back of the room, Miranda recrossed her legs and glanced over her syllabus. It was the first year’s first class with Flitwick, which meant it was her first day observing him. She remembered well enough how friendly he had always been with her and other Ravenclaws, and his excitable demeanor was admittedly contagious. Smiling slightly as she watched her mentor take attendance, Miranda took the opportunity to watch the first-years a bit as well.

The pure and half-blood students weren’t hard to suss out. They were already relaxed in their seats, ready for the lesson to start. Miranda felt herself raise a brow at the already yawning redhead in the third row. 

“Now that we’ve reviewed attendance, let me introduce myself,” from his lifted podium, Flitwick bowed. “I am Professor Filius Flitwick, Professor of Charms and Enchantments here at Hogwarts. I am also the head of Ravenclaw house. Charms is a rather broad subject, so we will have much to learn and review over your time at Hogwarts. For the first few years, though, we will be strictly dealing in what can be called ‘lighter’ enchantments, or temporary ones. Though some are just for show-” 

As Flitwick waved his wand, a hail of bright blue flower petals sprang forth, gently floating over their heads.

Miranda’s gaze swept over the room once more, the students from Muggle dominated houses stood out in their own ways as well. Those students reacted in more obvious surprise and awe of Flitwick’s display. To them, magic was still something completely new.

But Flitwick handled both groups admirably, managing to gain everyone’s attention as he reviewed the syllabus and assigned the night’s reading. Flicking open a small brown leather notebook, Miranda scribbled down a few observations of her own. 

  * _Prepare reading to establish basics  
  
_
  * _Mix in theory to keep all students mind’s engaged._



* * *

The rest of the week passed in much of a blur after that. 

Miranda could see why Dumbledore had urged her to not undertake observational training with Flitwick’s class. It did cut an entire morning’s worth of time out of her schedule and amounted to little more than her sitting in the back corner of a classroom watching him talk. In fact, for most teachers it wouldn’t even be an option at all, it would conflict directly with their schedules. But at the same time she felt like she was learning _something_. And with half her classes taking place after dinner, she was making do. 

Even juggling shadowing Flitwick as House Head, and her regular duties as a Professor, and chaperoning and staff patrols. . . And staff meetings. And with Quirrell bothering her nearly every opportunity he had.

Okay, she was a little busy, but she was coping excellently. She didn’t feel like any of her duties were slipping to make way for the others. And honestly, she liked running herself a bit ragged if it meant she wasn’t focusing on how nervous she still felt most of the time.

More than that, she liked learning new things and experiments, and she had plenty of opportunity for that.

She really did wish Quirrell would leave her alone though. He was a sweet enough man, though his magic still felt so strangely pear-shaped that it put her on edge. And if she turned around to find him silently standing near her in the library one more time she might hex him.

It didn’t help that every time he came near, Snape never seemed far behind, ready to sneer and look at her suspiciously.

To her credit, she hadn’t gone near the third floor since that first night. Her questions to Filius had simply been shrugged off with a ‘it’s something the staff has been told to leave well enough alone.’

But still, she put little thought into Snape’s vitriolic behavior, and had tried not to dwell too long on Quirrell. He was odd, to be sure, but she’d already stepped into one trap accusing her co-worker of dabbling in the Dark Arts. She wouldn’t make baseless assumptions. That way lay madness.

Pulling herself from her deep thoughts, Miranda opened the shutters in her classroom. A bit of fresh air would help, and it wasn’t too chilly just yet.

Over the stone and parapets of the castle, the distant, but heavy chime of the school’s clocktower rang over the grounds. Pushing off the sill, Miranda strode to her classroom door.

The final afternoon lecture block on Fridays, the last class before the weekend. Luck would put her first-year class here.

Sighing, she threw open her classroom door and took in the hallway full of trembling first-years. “Are you lot going to stand here all afternoon? Inside please, step lively.” she said, turning and leaving the door ajar. She heard the shuffling of many feet behind her.

“Welcome to your first Astronomy lecture,” she called, striding up to her desk at the head of the room. “In the future, feel free to enter and get yourselves situated before the bell, I have the second-years before this so I’ll be here.”

Turning, she surveyed her packed room. Unlike some courses, Astronomy wasn’t separated by house, which left her a class of almost fifty students to teach. Gods themselves help her.

“Let’s start with attendance. Unfortunately it may take time for me to learn all your names by heart, please do not take it personally,” Miranda reached for the piece of parchment on her desk, pushing back a stray curl from between her eyes. Damn her messy hair.

“Abbott, Hannah?”

“Here.”

“Brown, Lavender?”

“Present!”

And so on it went until most of the way down the list. “Potter, Harry?”

There was a murmur that rippled through the room. The boy in question hunched his shoulders from his seat in the second to last row. “Here.”

Miranda gave no reaction, and continued on. Unfortunately, a few students took that as a cue to speak a little louder. Pausing over ‘Weasley, Ronald,’ Miranda looked up from her parchment and fixed the class with a stern look and a raised brow.

Luckily, her students got the message and quieted down straight away.

Smiling a bit, she continued the last few names of attendance, until she heard an answering call from ‘Zabini, Blaise.’ 

“Excellent. Now that we’ve gotten that sorted, let’s begin by discussing this term’s syllabus.”

Leaning her hips on her desk, she tilted her head. “As some of you may be aware, Astronomy is among the five courses considered core education at Hogwarts. That means it’s available for all years to take, and is part of your fifth year exams. This year in particular we will be laying the most basic of foundations for you to build upon later, which means two classes a week. In this classroom, we will mostly discuss theory. In our nightly sessions on the tower, we will be putting those theories into practical use.”

Miranda raised a brow. “I suggest you do not forget your telescopes.”

“So,” She straightened her back. “Does anyone have any questions before we begin? Related to Astronomy or otherwise? This will be the only time I allow for dalliances, outside of my office hours. So I suggest you ask now.”

Like a shot from a gun, a girl in the front row had her fist in the air. Miranda blinked, taking in the Gryffindor red lining her robes. “Yes, Miss, ah Granger was it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the girl nodded, looking at her with wide brown eyes. “In our textbook, it mentions that Astronomy can have unexpected effects on certain forms of magic. Will that be explored during this class?”

“Ah,” Miranda tipped her chin back. “Yes. Celestial movements have effects that are still being recorded to this day among the wizarding world. In higher levels we will explore that in more detail, with particular regards to potion brewing and spell making. I also know that the Divination course optional for fourth-year study centers around similar concepts with Astrology.”

Another pair of Gryffindor girls cooed to each other, and Miranda smiled a bit at their enthusiasm. Sybill needed more students like that. “However that is, as I said, for more advanced levels. You have to learn _how_ to look at the stars before you ask _what_ they’re telling you.”

“Ma’am” the girl practically trembled in her seat. “Is there any recommended reading you could give exploring those topics?”

Miranda didn’t want to disappoint the girl. Normally, she’d hardly turn away someone pursuing knowledge but. . . “You must learn to walk before you can run, Miss Granger. I encourage you to learn the basics before delving too deeply into theory, lest you lose the value of what you are reading. But if you would like, my office hours are open to anyone who would like to discuss more unusual topics.”

In the front row, a girl with dark hair and Slytherin green lined robes raised a hand.

“Yes, Ms. Parkinson?” Miranda regarded the girl’s pinched, but curious look, and her chosen seat next to Malfoy. She had a feeling what this question would be.

“Professor _Devlin_ ,” the girl’s emphasis on her name immediately made her want to sigh. “What house were you in during your schooling?” The girl had a sharp sort of intelligence behind her eyes, and Miranda found herself smiling slightly.

“I was in Ravenclaw,” she said, “though my twin was in Slytherin, and I very nearly was as well.”

Another set of mumbling shifted the room, happy sounds from some of the blue and green decorated students, and obvious disappointment from those in red or yellow. Odd, had the house rivalries gotten even more serious in her absence? That couldn’t be good.

“Professor?” The Granger girl spoke up again, and Miranda nodded in acknowledgment. “What do you mean nearly?”

“Are you all familiar with the concept of a hatstall?” Granger nodded, as did some others. But enough students looked puzzled that Miranda clarified. “The sorting is, as many things are, a sometimes imperfect process. It’s no doubt effective, but to categorize any one person into a basic, unifying group is. . . tricky at best. It’s not uncommon for students to have connections to more than one. . . let’s say category.”

Miranda felt a smirk tugging at her lips, and let her voice take on an air of secrecy. “For example, Professor Flitwick, though Head of Ravenclaw, was nearly sorted into Gryffindor instead.”

There were several sounds of quiet awe, and many Ravenclaws suddenly glanced at each other. Miranda laughed slightly. “Now, that doesn’t mean that Professor Flitwick isn’t still proud to be a Ravenclaw, I assure you that he is. It just means he can be as equally. . . fierce as any Gryffindor. Like many of you, he couldn’t be called any one thing.”

Some students still looked a bit confused, while others seemed to be considering her words. “I have a similar relationship with the House of Slytherin. I personally don’t belong to it, because that is eventually what the Sorting Hat decided. But I easily could have, and I am sure I would have been just as happy there as anywhere else.”

“My father says that Slytherin is the best house,” Mister Malfoy piped up from his seat in the front row. 

Miranda couldn’t help but snort, and shook her head a bit. “I have no doubt that he feels that way, nor do I begrudge him a certain level of pride. But personally I don’t think that any one house is better than any others, just different.”

There was more muttering, and Miranda suddenly realized this might be a slightly advanced topic for this level of first-years.

“But,” she clapped her hands, “that is enough of that talk, I think. Any other questions before we begin?”

There was none, and Miranda smiled. Waving a finger, the star chart she’d hung above the blackboard earlier lowered with a snap. At her magic, several students gasped and prodded each other. “Excellent. Then let’s begin. Please take out your assigned textbooks and turn to page nine, we’ll begin reading the first chapter on the technicalities of star chart making.”


	7. Gemini

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miranda finally settles on a familiar.

Miranda’s patrol began like her past few. Hogwarts professors, should they not have evening lectures, were assigned nights to navigate the school, watching for students out of bed. And due to her nighttime lectures not beginning until the third week of term, Miranda had been given the lion’s share of patrols. But she was happy to do it, since she couldn’t later.

The first hour was simple enough, mostly spent shepherding students back to their common rooms. Many claimed, wide-eyed and ever so innocent, that they had simply lost track of time. While she didn’t exactly believe them, she saw no point in being overly harsh with her students so early in the term, and sent them on their way with little more than a slap on the wrist.

She certainly didn’t mind having the time to think. Earlier with her first-years had been very productive. Some clearly needed more help than others, but now that her first week of classes were behind her, she felt much more confident.

The fact that students had already noticed she could, and clearly preferred, to cast without a wand was worrying. But Dumbledore said he could deal with the difficulty that came with hiring one of her kind, and she believed him.

Still, she had a strong feeling she should start vetting her mail soon, and that her office hours were about to be very busy.

After another two hours, Miranda had wandered almost the full length of the castle, and was quietly heading down the stairs to the dungeon when she heard very soft voices.

The funny thing about old castles, and Hogwarts especially, was that you never knew if the sounds you heard were from around the corner, or three turns away. So, minding that, Miranda branched out her magical sense, and several corridors down, she felt two little flickers. One was like fizzing candy, all pops and merry hissing, while the other was like a crackling flame of a sparkler. The two magical signatures were like strange mirrors of each other, and that let her know exactly who she was dealing with.

Leaning back, Miranda lifted a hand and muttered a few words to herself.

_ “I am not seen, I am not heard _

_ I am not here, my essence blurred _

_ Speed my steps but harsh the sound _

_ Let me mark not even ground.” _

As she completed the layered enchantment, she felt her whole body lighten like air, and what she could see of herself went intangible.

Walking, though it was more like gliding, down the corridor and around the necessary turns, she found the Weasley twins crouched behind a statue of Wulfric the Weary. They seemed to be chatting over something, one peered around the bend with some sort of firework in hand, while the other carefully studied a piece of folded parchment.

“Fred,” the one with the parchment, George, whispered. “Fred something weird just happened.”

“Yea?” Fred turned, firework drooping loosely in his fingers. Miranda used the distraction to creep up behind him. “Is Filch coming this way?”

“No, he’s upstairs but I think Professor Devlin disappeared-”

“Hello boys,” Miranda released the enchantment, snatching the parchment from Mr. Weasley’s hand. “Awfully late for a walk.”

The twins jumped a mile, crashing into each other and falling in a tangle of limbs.

“Bloody hell!”

“Language, Mr. Weasley,” Miranda admonished, though she kept her tone gentle. Glancing down at the parchment in her hands, her eyes widened.  _ Well this was interesting. _

Meanwhile the twins recovered, leaping one after the other to their feet. “Professor Devlin,” Fred blinked at her, “we must have missed curfew. Shame, right George?”

“Absolute shame, Fred,” George gave a false sigh, “so we were just-”

“Just going to set off that firecracker you have, yes I’d gathered,” Miranda remarked dryly, carefully studying the strange school map she held in her hands. Like little ants, dots flitted and crept across the page, each with a neat label. Severus Snape seemed to be wandering the dungeons, and Argus Filch was on the fifth floor. She blinked at the sight of Miranda Devlin marked clearly next to the Wulfric statue.  _ Oh, how fascinating.  _ “Where did you two get this?”

“Uh, well,” the twins hesitated, and Miranda used the opportunity to sense out the charm on the moving map. Nothing Dark, thank goodness. It seemed to just be a tricky little tracking charm. Definitely complex and layered, but nothing a clever enough student couldn’t manage.

“So you stole it then,” Miranda looked up at them when they didn’t answer. Nervously shifting from foot to foot, the boys glanced at each other in a way that reminded her so much of her and her brother, she couldn’t help but smile.

“. . .Yeah,” One of them, Fred, she was fairly sure, shrugged and admitted it easily. “Got it back in first year.”

“Did you take it from a classmate?” Miranda felt she had to ask, even as she folded up the parchment with the utmost care.

“No of course not, professor!” Fred insisted.

“We nicked it from Filch,” his twin finished. “But he just had it locked up! We don’t think he even noticed it gone.” Their faces were a bit too innocent, but she could tell they weren’t lying.

“All right then,” Miranda said, lifting a hand to trace her lip with her thumb. “Why don’t we have a little trade? You give me that firework, and I’ll return your map.”

The boys exchanged a bug-eyed look before turning back to her.

“Really?”

“You mean it?”

“I do,” she said, biting her lip as she tried not to grin. “It seems harmless enough, though you two could be a bit kinder to Mr. Filch.”

Struck with a moment of inspiration, Miranda’s face dropped into a blank expression, and she stared at a point over their heads. “In fact. . .”

The twins looked much less happy now, dreading whatever horrid detention she’d concocted. But after a moment Miranda just grinned at the boys.

“You two must be wondering how I disappeared from the map, yes?” she asked, and George nodded emphatically, while Fred’s eyes widened like dinner plates. “Let’s turn this into a learning experience then. I won’t give you detention, or take any house points. But I’d like you to each write about how you think I dodged this clever little map.”

They glanced at each other, and then back at her.

“But Professor-”

“- how are we supposed to figure out how you did something-”

“- if we don’t know how you done it?”

Miranda lifted a finger and smiled. “Well that’s the point, isn’t it? If you two want to be troublemakers, you’ll have to be faster” she tapped George on the nose. “And cleverer,” she tapped Fred, “than I am. And I was a Ravenclaw.”

She grinned wider as she continued. “Let’s say twelve inches of parchment, due tomorrow at dinner. Not before, not after. Bring your papers right up to the high table, I’ve always enjoyed a little magical theory with my meals.

“Now,” she held out the map, “do we have a deal?”

* * *

Mira awoke early Sunday morning, greeting the sun as she slipped from her bed and readied herself for the day. She was one of the first down at breakfast, only Dumbledore and Pomona beating her, along with a few very groggy students.

She’d been happy to discover that professors, unlike students, could come and go from the little village of Hogsmeade as often as they pleased. A few letters later, and her and her twin brother would be shopping together that day.

Eating quickly, Miranda greeted the other few professors who staggered into the Hall for morning tea and a meal.

“What’s got you so bloody cheerful?” Septima said, arching a dark brow.

“I’m meeting Sly in Hogsmeade today,” Miranda couldn’t help but grin. “Then maybe run some errands. My cauldron needs scrubbing, and I need a few odds and ends from in town. That and Sylvester’s been busy at work ever since early July.”

Septima paused over her tea, shooting Miranda a curious, almost worried look. “It’s been that long? No wonder you’re so excited.”

Nodding, Miranda tipped her head back to finish her coffee. “I’d actually better get going, if I don’t want to be late. I’ll see you later?”

“Alright,” Septima chuckled. “Careful not to get too excited.”

Miranda made her promises, and bustled out of the Great Hall. As she left, she passed by a familiar hoard of Gryffindor first-years, all dawdling and whispering at the sight of her. From the back of the troupe, Miranda saw a familiar twiggy silhouette with messy black hair and still broken glasses.

“A moment, Mister Potter,” she said, motioning the boy closer to her. The boys around him broke into fervent muttering, but Miranda ignored it, bending slightly as Potter hesitantly approached. _ Gods, he looks like he’s expecting a whipping. _

As she reached up a hand, Potter flinched slightly, and Miranda frowned. Definitely expecting a whipping, who raised him again?

After pausing to let him realize he wasn’t about to be hurt, Miranda tapped a single fingertip on the bridge of his glasses. In a quick burst of magic, the crack on the left lens sealed shut, and the layers of tape on the frames disappeared with a quiet snap.

Grinning, Miranda straightened, shooing the boy with a gentle hand. “Off you go, dear. Step lively.”

He hesitated a moment, staring with his eerie, haunted green eyes, but then he quickly ducked into the Great Hall.

Smiling to herself, Miranda turned on her heel and walked out the front doors.

The village of Hogsmeade was as sunny and welcoming as ever, and Miranda grinned at the sight of a familiar figure loitering outside the broom shop.

“Sly!” she cried, abandoning all decorum as she quickly walked to her brother, pulling him into a vice-tight hug.

Leaning his chin on her shoulder, she felt him laugh, holding her back just as tight. Under her fingertips, she felt his magic respond to her own, weaving a dark ocean and brine against her own flash bang of fire and burning coals. She smiled, pressing her face against his tawny coat. “Missed you, brother of mine.”

“Missed you too, sister of mine,” he said, patting her hair. “Gods above, you’re still wearing your wand in your hair? You’re going to set your bun on fire.”

“You’re still wearing those hideous green earrings,” she answered, finally pulling back enough to look at him. “They haven’t fired you for breaking dress-code yet?”

“Hah! They wish they could afford to fire me,” Sylvester winked. “Whatever would the Ministry do without their best curse-breaker?”

Miranda sighed, it was a comfort seeing her own face reflected in something other than a mirror. Her and Sylvester were identical, down to the little mole on their cheek and bright blue of their eyes. But where she dressed in deep teal dresses and attempted some form of decorum, her brother wore his hair back in a simple ponytail, with shaved sides and thick, snake-like earrings that hissed quietly.

“Gods it’s good to see you again,” she said. If she kept grinning the way she was, her cheeks were going to hurt at the end of the day.

“You too,” her brother smirked. “Students driving you up the wall yet? You haven’t even rung mum since you’ve gotten back.”

“Ugh, I know, I know. She must be furious with me,” Miranda tipped back her head and groaned. “Honestly this has been the first free time I’ve had all week.”

“Well,” her brother offered his arm, “let’s get you something to drink, ey?”

“It’s not even ten in the morning,” she laughed, weaving her arm into his own. “I’ve collected my first Hogwarts paycheck, I have my budget all planned and calculated, and now I’m ready to spend some money on something stupi-”

“Mira?” Sly felt the pull on his arm as she stopped dead, and turned to look at her. She was staring at a shop window across the street, eyes wide. He followed her gaze, and blinked.

In the display across the way, sat a grey and white long-haired cat with bright greenish eyes. It stared at Miranda for a long beat of time before blinking back.

* * *

Several hours later, and Miranda was walking back up the steps to Hogwarts, new cat bundled in her arms. She’d spent a lovely morning with her brother. After the two of them had stumbled into the store to purchase the little beauty that had been staring at Miranda like she had been waiting for her, they’d toddled a bit around the shops, and grabbed an early lunch at Three Broomsticks.

“Mab,” Miranda had said, feeding the cat a bit of ham from her sandwich. “Her name is Mab.”

Her brother had laughed at the name, but agreed, gesturing at the cat that had curled up in Miranda’s grasp and refused to leave. “She certainly seems queenly.”

Once they were inside the castle, Mab squirmed slightly, clearly requesting to be put down. Miranda placed her on the floor, but spoke sternly. “Don’t go wandering off now, we should get you settled first.”

Mab blinked her slow blink and yawned, waiting for Miranda to take the lead.

“Come on then,” she said, heading toward her office and ignoring the stares she was getting from the few loitering students.

Once she’d gotten Mab and her things settled in her office and quarters, it was still barely afternoon., and Miranda figured she may as well get some chores done.

Changing from her dress into an old loose tunic and leggings, Miranda reached up and let her hair down. The curling messy mass hung wildly about her face, and she massaged her very grateful scalp, sighing.

“Alright,” she said, rolling up her sleeves. “Let’s get started.” Miranda grabbed her cauldron and other brewing tools, a bucket of warm water, sat on the floor of her office, and started scrubbing.

Some wizards both could and would simply vanish away any brewing remnants from their tools, but in the words of Miranda’s grandmother Lulu, ‘Magic and silly wand-waving isn’t meant for cutting corners and being lazy.’

That, and nothing beat simple elbow-greasing work. It was honestly peaceful, and it had the bonus of letting her imbibe her intent into her kit.

She started with her tools, and she was just polishing her anthame when there was a knock on the door. On the desk, Mab gave a little huff, ears flicking from where she had curled up to nap. Looking up from her place on the floor, Miranda called out. “Come in!”

The door swung open, revealing a stern-looking Professor Snape. Miranda grinned, unwilling to let his sour air dampen her good mood. “Good afternoon.”

Dark brows drew together, and he looked genuinely surprised at her. But then his gaze narrowed. “Professor Devlin, is there a reason you’re dressed so unprofessionally at,” his eyes darted to the new clock on her mantle, “four in the afternoon?”

“I didn’t think wearing a gown to scrub cauldrons was a good idea,” she chuckled. “Don’t you agree?”

That look of surprise came back at her flippancy. “There are many resources at Hogwarts for cauldron maintenance. Scrubbing them by hand is a punishment for students.”

Miranda scoffed, tipping her head back as she continued her work. “Wizards. You lot would use simple labor as a punishment. It’s just work, Professor Snape. It won’t bite you.”

“Some would consider it a servant’s task,” he said, raising a single brow.

Now that made Miranda’s temper flare. “Some are also full of so much pure-blood rhetoric that they can barely function without magical help. If this truly offends your sensibilities Professor Snape, I suggest you tell me whatever it is that brought you to my office.” 

And get out, her tone implied.

There was a slight snap of fury in his eyes, but his face remained unchanged. “Quidditch season begins in a month's time, and our Deputy Headmistress often takes it upon herself to round up any staff she can on a crusade to support her precious Gryffindors. Flitwick mentioned you were likely not to appear at the first match. I’m not certain if it’s gotten through to you yet, but professional behavior,” he sneered down his nose at her, “is something of importance to those who must lead the students of his school.”

Miranda opened her mouth to answer, and then stopped. Maybe it was that she’d just spent several hours with her brother, and was more in tune with the half-entendre, Slytherin way of speaking, but Snape’s words were at war with his tone. 

As was her way, she spoke her half-formed thoughts aloud. “If I didn’t know better, Professor Snape, I’d say you were worried about me. Or perhaps not me,” she paused, “but what I might do to embarass you.”

He didn’t move an inch, and Miranda wasn’t certain if that was an admission or rejection of her words. There was a pregnant pause, before she nodded. “I’ll be there, not to worry. I might even support Slytherin, since you’ve been so kind.”

Her sarcastic barb did little against his laser-like stare, and without another word, Snape turned on his heel, and in a moment the door snapped shut behind him.

“Odd man, that one,” Miranda said, staring thoughtfully at the wood. From her place on the desk, Mab gave a little huff of agreement.


	8. Locks and Traps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dear god we are finally at the part where Things start Happening

From his seat at the High Table, Albus Dumbledore thought heavily on his blooming problem.

If one was to consider the current school year from an outside standpoint, there wouldn’t appear to be a problem at all. Harry seemed to be settling into life at Hogwarts admirably, and there had been no true disturbances at Hogwarts from an inside or outside force.

But he could sense trouble brewing just outside his view, and therefore his control. That was worrying him. More than that, the two professors he was most concerned about still remained complete mysteries. Severus had brought his suspicions about Devlin and Quirrell to him early in the year, and Albus was inclined to listen to his Spymaster’s keen judgement. Particularly when it coincided with his own.

And yet, though they were nearly a month and a half into term, and not Severus, nor Minerva, nor himself learned anything more about either of the staff’s newest additions since they had walked through the doors.

Quirrell continued to be odd, and his magic so very damaged, but that was too little for Albus to dare act on. He would have to continue waiting until Quirrell slipped up somehow, if he was going to at all, and that was nearly maddening.

Then there was Devlin. Albus remembered her very well from her time at Hogwarts. Weyc’s were extremely rare in the current wizarding climate, especially recently. Both she and her twin Sylvester had left behind a significant impression at Hogwarts, simply by existing. They were, to date, the second and third Weyccan witches to successfully pass through Hogwarts halls ever.

Albus had many, many plans for the two of them, but before he could risk drawing Miranda into his inner circle, he had to determine if she was at all trustworthy. Despite the Ministry’s efforts, there were still many Death Eaters at large in the wizarding world. And he knew no more about her now than he did when he’d hired her.

Strictly speaking, Devlin had certainly proven herself wise, kind, and a capable educator. It was clear in her interactions with students that she conducted herself professionally, while still being somewhat genial.

And there was still that unending, almost overwhelming curiosity that shined out of her and onto everything she touched, it was almost childlike, somehow still enduring in her later years. And yet. . . her own opinions and thoughts on matters often lay locked behind a vault.

So far, she was far less steeped suspicious activity than his current Defence teacher, but something about her gaze worried him. He could practically feel her mind whirring as she watched the goings on at Hogwarts. There were times she seemed a perfectly sane, intelligent modern witch. Yet other times, when she truly relaxed the mask she currently held in place, she revealed herself far more unexpected and strange than Albus had ever realized.

If the situation surrounding her loyalties was not so precarious, he would be delighted by the challenge she was providing.

“Albus?” Minerva’s voice brought him out of his thoughts. 

“Apologies, Minerva,” he smiled. “I was simply considering a little puzzle I’m working on. What was that?”

She paused, and he continued to grin at her no-nonsense stare. “I was telling you that Mister Potter has joined the Gryffindor Quidditch team,” she said. “But your thoughts appeared to be elsewhere.”

“Ah, just like his father then,” Albus said, taking a bite of his kippers. “I was hoping Harry would follow in James’s footsteps.”

“He’s our new Seeker, actually,” Minerva sniffed, “James was a chaser, Albus.”

Before he could respond, there was a slight pause in conversation at the staff table, as the Weasley twins shouldered their way up the dias.

“Professor Devlin,” said one, shoulders straight and unapologetic, despite the stares he and his twin were getting. Devlin leaned her chin on her hand, grinning at the boys.

“Here are our essays, Ma’am,” finished the other. In unison, the boys held out a single scroll of parchment each.

“Ah, excellent!” Miranda grinned, taking the paper and waving them off. “Off you go then, I’ll read these and get them back to you soon.”

As the two boys leapt down and headed back to their seats, Albus heard Septima asking a loud question.

“What on earth was that about, Mira?”

Devlin’s laugh was echoing and pure, as she skimmed the first parchment. “Oh, just a bit of extra-credit work, dear. Nothing to worry about.”

Unnoticed by most, Albus’s brows lowered, heavy, over his eyes.

* * *

The following weeks brought the final shift toward chilly fall weather, and Miranda found herself breathing deeply at the smell of decay in the air. Yes, she knew it was a bit stereotypical of her, but the cycle of Will in nature was so strong during the early fall. She couldn’t help but revel a little.

Mab shadowing her footsteps, Miranda headed down the steps toward the forest. It was late afternoon, and despite the bite of cold on the breeze, the sun was rather warm as she passed the Greenhouses to begin heading across the lawn.

As she ducked into the tree line, she gathered her skirts about her ankles to keep stray roots from catching. Between Hogsmede and Sprout’s well-kept greenhouse, there were enough potions supplies in the general area to keep every apothecary in London stocked for a year. But, as any good Weyc would, Miranda always felt the best ingredients came from plants harvested fresh and wild. Tonight was Halloween, and while she wasn’t keen to be late for the festivities, she had been running dreadfully low on Hellebore. 

As she headed further into the shadows of the forest, she noted how thick the foliage was. No more than a few minutes in, and shadows already played heavily across the ground, making her surroundings gloomy and somber.

“Dark Forest indeed,” she muttered to herself, adjusting her cloak and continuing on. As she walked, she let loose her magical sense. She couldn’t often let it run wild at the castle, there was too much to tap into, and people deserved their privacy. But out in nature, she could really relax and just stretch.  
What echoed back at her almost knocked her off her feet.

Pausing for a moment, Miranda laid her hand against the bark of a tree. Power, ancient and twisting, was the first thing that rose to her senses. The land the forest sat upon was bursting with magic and life. But that wasn’t what had stopped her. No, there was a stranger feeling here, one of upset, one of anger.

“What’s wrong, dear?” she breathed, running her fingers over the bark in a soothing gesture. “I mean no harm. I’ll take only what I need, and leave an offering in return if you’d like.”

But her intent received no response. Something had the forest on the defensive, and it wasn’t her.

Pausing, Miranda debated going further. She certainly needed her potion ingredients, but would that upset the balance of things even more? The hostility of the wood seemed to not bother with her, but was pointed at something else, something outside her view. That was certainly worrying as well, but perhaps a turn about the area would give her a better focus of what was causing the upset?

Calling her cat to her, Miranda set off deeper into the forest.

The more she walked, the more certain Miranda felt that there was something wrong. The forest wasn’t quiet, per say, but it still felt tense. Almost like it was waiting for something.

Yet thirty minutes of wandering, and nothing occurred. 

If she stayed out much later, she’d miss the feast, and Dumbledore would be extremely cross. Humming thoughtfully, Miranda turned to head back to the castle, only to see her cat sitting by a small patch of plants.

“Ah!” Miranda grinned at the familiar flowers. “Good eye, little one.”

Kneeling to give Mab some appreciative scratches behind the ears, Miranda pulled a small set of shears from her bag, as well as a few jars.

Lifting her shears, Miranda allowed her magic to trail down her arm, and she gently touched them to the plant. When she felt no hostility toward her, she snipped a single flower, and waited.

The forest stayed dormant around her.

Shrugging, Miranda started carefully pruning the plants, paying no heed to the dirt she was getting on her dress. The patch Mab had found was practically overflowing, and even taking care to not take too much to cripple the plant, Miranda still figured she had enough to last her a good long while.

After a few minutes her job was done, and Miranda stood. As she headed back toward the castle, she brushed a few fingers over a nearby tree. “Thank you.”

As she walked away, the tree stretched just a little taller from her burst of assistive magic.

* * *

Walking up the sloping lawn, Miranda flushed at the sound of the tolling bell. Damn, it was so late already?

Ducking into the teacher’s lounge on the first floor, she waved a hand over herself, muttering a quick Evansco to remove the worst brambles and smudges. Checking herself over in a mirror, she pressed two fingers to the space between her eyes, turning her usually subtle makeup into something smokier and more appropriate for the night’s revels.

She sighed at the abysmal state of her hair. “Well,” she tried her best to rescue it, only to have a large curl fall out between her eyes. Huffing, she gave up. “Good enough.”

Slipping into the Great Hall, she was a bit embarrassed to see the staff table already full, save herself and Quirrell. Several students were already seated for dinner, clearly excited as they watched clouds of enchanted bats weave between floating candles and pumpkins. Bustling over to her seat, Miranda flushed at the look Septima was giving her. “What?”

“Where have you been, Mira?” Septima tilted her head on her hand. “I’d have thought you would be the first one downstairs; this is one of your favorite days of the year.”

“I went for a walk,” she answered, taking a sip of pumpkin juice. She wasn’t entirely certain staff were allowed in the forest. Obviously students weren’t, so she figured it may be to her benefit not to mention it for now.

The feast had just barely gotten underway when Quirrell finally appeared. As he rounded the corner into the Hall, Miranda’s jaw dropped at his appearance. He looked positively harassed.

As Quirrell bolted to the teacher’s table, a silence overtook the hall as students and teachers stared.

As he reached Professor Dumbledore's chair, he slumped against the table, and gasped, "Troll. . . Troll in . . . in the dungeons. . . thought you ought to know."

And he promptly collapsed.

There was the slightest beat, and then the Hall came alive as students panicked. Their buzzing, screeching uproar was so intense, Miranda shot to her feet. “How do we quiet them?” she shouted to Septima.

But Dumbledore was ahead of her, and several bright fiery sparks shot from his wand, startling the children into silence. “Prefects," he rumbled, "lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!”

The buzzing commenced, but in a far more recognizable push and pull as students banded together.

“Professors, with me,” Dumbledore turned on his heel and headed toward the side door that was the quickest path to the dungeons. Miranda moved to follow instinctually, but as she did, she watched as Poppy moved to help Quirrell. Concerned, she was satisfied enough to sense his magic was actually rather settled, and figured he would be awakening any moment.

As the door closed behind them, Dumbledore spoke quickly. “We must find this creature before a student is harmed. Professors Burbage and Kettleburn, the top two floors. Sprout and Madame Hooch, the towers. Mr Filch and Hagrid, search the grounds. Professor’s Flitwick and Vector, the dungeons and first two floors. Minerva and Professor Devlin, the third and fourth floor. Severus, follow me.”

The moment Dumbledore finished speaking, the teachers all split into their assigned pairs. Though Miranda heard Septima ask loudly, “But don’t we know where it is?” which earned her a prompt shush from Flitwick.

Though she supposed Septima had a point. As she and McGonagall climbed toward the third floor, Miranda voiced a similar concern. “Professor, is there a particular reason the headmaster is splitting us all?”

“Trolls are unintelligent creatures, but more difficult than some give them credit, Professor Devlin,” McGonagall answered. “While Quirrell may have seen one in the dungeons, there is no guarantee that it stayed there.”

The stern and suspicious tone in the woman’s voice brought Miranda up short. Did. . . Did McGonagall think Quirrell was lying?

“Ma’am-” she was about to ask, when the sound of breaking wood and porcelain reached her ears. Before either of them could move another step, there was a shrill, frightened scream, and a chill ran up Miranda’s spine.  _ Oh Goddess no. _

Taking off at a run, Miranda and McGonagall ran through the twisting corridors of the third floor. As they took a turn, they almost ran bodily into Snape and Quirrell, what the hell were the two of them doing here?

But there was no time to ask, as another shout and tremendous crash rang through the corridor. McGonagall pushed past the two men and burst into the ladies room at the end of the hall, Miranda on her heels.

Miranda’s jaw dropped at the sight of three tiny first years, covered head to toe in dirt and plaster, standing over the unconscious body of a mountain troll.

“Good lord,” Miranda gasped, and she heard the sound of Quirrell sitting heavily.

“What on earth were you three thinking?” McGonagall’s voice was thunderous as she took in her students. 

Snape ignored the lot of them, quickly moving to assess the troll. Miranda meanwhile, silently took in the destruction. There wasn’t an inch of the room that wasn’t smashed beyond repair. How had these three survived?

Once Minerva had given the students a firm dressing-down she released them, but as the children moved to run off, Miranda raised a hand.

“Hold on now, before you three go rushing off, let me have a look at you.” She kneeled in front of them, brushing plaster from her skirt. Miranda gave them each a check over both with her eyes and other senses, and would have been blind to miss the sneer Snape aimed in her direction.

But the three of them had not a scratch, except for being quite obviously shaken.

Brushing some of the dust and wood bits out of Mr. Weasley’s hair, she sighed. “Alright you three, you seem fine to my eyes, but if any of you aren’t feeling well, report to Madam Pomfry in the morning. Now off you go, spit-spot.”

Without a word, the three students bolted out the door. Brushing yet more plaster off her dress, Miranda stood, content to wait until the other teachers arrived.

She hardly had to wait long, Dumbledore, Sprout, and Flitwick appeared less than a minute after the students departed.

Dumbledore stood in silence for a moment as McGonagall explained the mess they found. Meanwhile, Flitwick began working with Sprout and Quirrell to remove the troll’s body. Miranda struggled not to smirk at the sight of Quirrell twittering and struggling as Sprout firmly instructed him in helping the levitation charm.

Then Dumbledore’s quiet tones reached her ears. “Professors McGonagall and Snape, please join me in my office.”

Miranda blinked as the headmaster’s gaze swung to hers, lacking its usual twinkle. “Professor Devlin, if you would join us?”

“Of course headmaster,” she bowed her head, unsure what she had done wrong.

The four of them traveled in silence, and it was hardly any time at all until the door of the headmaster’s office closed behind her.

Dumbledore settled behind his desk and motioned for her and her fellows to sit. She settled into her seat, as did McGonagall, but Snape began to pace the room. 

“Professor Devlin,” he began. “know that I ask this only as a concerned administrator of this school. This is not to lay any anger or suspicion on you, nor to make you feel turned against. But I must inquire about your whereabouts this afternoon.”

Miranda paled, they couldn’t possibly think that she-

She felt the headmaster’s Legilimency brush against her senses, and she flinched, forcing herself not to throw up wards in response.

“I’ll admit I was in the Dark Forest this afternoon sir,” Miranda said, running her mind through her memories to demonstrate. “I have been running low on potions ingredients for weeks now, so I set out to-”

Snape scoffed loudly from behind her chair, causing Miranda to jump. “You ran low on potion ingredients, so you choose to enter the Dark Forest instead of, say, fetching more from town? Or even the Hogwarts Greenhouses?”

“I prefer to prune my own ingredients,” she insisted, “and it’s an old Weyccan practice to harvest from wild plants. I needed something fresh that had been allowed to flourish! Not ruthlessly pruned into submission.”

She dug her hands into her bag, producing the little jar of hellebore and clearly used shears. “I didn’t even have time to clean my tools, as you can see. Please, I understand your suspicion, but at least allow me to make my case!”

Clutching her fingers into her shawl, Miranda forced herself to stay still in her chair as she felt a tug at the back of her mind. Instead she forced sincerity into her words. 

“Earlier this afternoon, I went into the Dark Forest to retrieve more Hellebore. I thought it would be a short errand, it’s not an uncommon plant. But then I. . . I sensed something.”

She went on to describe the imbalance in the forest, taking care to be as detailed as possible. “The Dark Forest is a well known place of power, and it is in complete uproar. After feeling such a strangeness in the forest, I thought it would be unwise not to investigate. But I would never do anything that may harm a student at this school. To let such a beast into the castle, to endanger my charges goes against everything I stand for. I don’t know what I can do to prove it to you, sir. But I pray you allow me to at least try!”

There was a long moment of silence as Dumbledore considered her words, and she fought the urge to fidget. “. . . Very well, Professor Devlin. I apologize for questioning you so, but you understand I must examine every possibility in this most dangerous time.”

Miranda still felt more than a bit offended, but nodded stiffly. “Of course, headmaster.”

* * *

Dumbledore dismissed his newest professor smoothly after her questioning, and waited until the door shut firmly before addressing the others in the room.

“Well, in light of these events, it seems we have another matter on our hands,” Dumbledore steepled his fingers.

“Devlin is still no more trustworthy than before,” Snape paused just long enough in his pacing to glare at McGonagall and Dumbledore in turn. “We have yet to determine if her intentions are as she says.”

“For goodness sakes Severus,” McGonagall cried. “The young woman’s first thought when we found those first-years was to check their health! That’s hardly the actions of a dark witch.”

“Neither does it absolve her of guilt,” Snape insisted. “Until we can determine her involvement or lack thereof we cannot risk telling her of-”

Dumbledore sighed, listening to the two fall back into their usual arguing. As reassuring as Miranda had attempted to be, only time would tell her true allegiance.


	9. Do or Don't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's finally time for the first Quidditch Match

Yet as fall continued, there were no more incidents, and no more light shed on the mystery of the troll’s appearance in the castle. The sheer lack of information had most students on edge at first, but soon enough that stressful buzzing gave way to a sort of excitement that Miranda couldn’t help but roll her eyes at. It was Quidditch season, and the first match between Slytherin and Gryffindor.

“Professor Devlin?” Minerva had cornered her after their latest staff meeting. “Filius may have mentioned that you would be missing the season’s first Quidditch match this afternoon.”

“Ah,” Miranda sighed, re-securing her hair where it had begun to fall. “Not to worry, Minerva. Professor Snape already gave me a stern talking-to about appearances, I’ll be sure to go this afternoon.”

“Oh, excellent,” Minerva’s mouth formed a pleased sort-of smirk. “That makes it easier for me to induce you to cheer for Gryffindor.”

Miranda raised a brow at the other woman as they followed the rest of the staff toward luncheon. “Oh? You do recall my brother was a Slytherin. Shouldn’t I be rooting for them?”

“Of course,” Minerva waved a hand. “Severus would say so.”

Immediately catching the meaning, Miranda couldn’t help but grin. “Well, when you make such a convincing argument, I suppose I can’t help but be persuaded.”

“Thank you, dear,” McGonagall smirked, moving to her seat at the staff table.

Lunch passed quickly after that, the Great Hall so abuzz that even Miranda’s bored heart couldn’t help but lighten. “You’d think that all this fuss would be saved for something more important than a sports game.”

“Ah, but haven’t you heard, Miranda?” Filius motioned enthusiastically with his fork. “Harry Potter has been made the Gryffindor Seeker!”

“And?” she drawled.

Her tone immediately made Filius puff up defensively, but Septima was kind enough to intervene.

“I doubt she means anything by it Flitwick, you know that Mira can’t be bothered to rip her nose from her books, even when it was her brother playing.”

Miranda scoffed in fake insult. “I was plenty supportive of Sly!”

“You say that,” Septima slowly peeled an orange, unable to stop herself from smiling. “But I remember all those times you spent staring off into space during his matches.”

Rolling her eyes, Miranda carefully placed her utensils away with the remainder of her meal. “Well regardless, I’ve been properly shamed into attending today’s match. So your taunting hardly makes a difference.”

Stepping down from the staff table, she gave her final farewell. “If I’m to be sitting a hundred feet in the air watching children hit each other over a ball, I’m going to at least grab my warmest cloak.”

Septima and Flitwick’s laughter followed her well out into the hall. Mira sighed, resigning herself to making the jaunt up to her tower as quickly as possible, or else she was sure the taunting would only get worse.

Yet as she headed to her office, Miranda found the stairs were being oddly unhelpful. 

As she tried to head up toward her tower, they redirected her down, right, left, and every which way that could try to get her turned around. Finally, as she was deposited on the landing of the Gryffindor common room for the third time, she’d had enough.

“I’d like to go to my office, please!” she said, stamping her foot. In a moment of grinding stone, several staircases snapped into a single file line, leading directly to the landing her tower was on. “Thank you!”

“Wicked,” several Gryffindors had left their common room just in time to see her little fit, and were looking at her in a mixture of awe and fear.

Ignoring them, Miranda rushed up the stairs toward her office. She wasn’t the biggest fan of Quidditch, she’d meant that. But she was even less enthused at the thought of being late, particularly if it meant another lecture from Snape and barbs from Flitwick.

As a result, when she finally entered her office she was in such a hurry, she almost didn’t notice it.

As her door swung shut behind her, she heard the lock click, and felt a strange wave of magic ripple over her wards. Spinning, Miranda looked at the door she’d just closed. “What on earth?”

The door sat benign and harmless looking, but the bubbling of some strange magic was there, barely. Inching closer, Miranda reached out a hand to hover over the wood.

There was a sizzle and a crack, and an arc of white-hot power jumped and leapt painfully over her fingers.

Swearing, Miranda pulled back. Is this some sort of prank? A curse? What kind of nonsense was the castle playing at now?

Rubbing over her still painfully tingling hand, Miranda’s eyes studied the door, and she reached out this time with only her senses. She smelled something like damp moulder and ozone, thick, cloying, and yet stinging. It was a unique magical signature to be sure. 

More concerning, it was a completely unfamiliar one.

In the distance, she heard the muffled voices of the Quidditch game filtering up to her window. She felt an icy shiver of dread run down her back. If someone wanted to trap her, hurt her, what better time than when the entire school was empty?

She suddenly felt it was important that she get out of here.

Taking a steadying breath, Miranda forced herself to focus. It was a puzzle. She just had to see it as a puzzle.

“Just a puzzle,” she repeated. Once she was calm, she reached out magically one more time. 

The hex seemed to be concentrated near the lock of her door, and as she leaned down, careful not to get too close, she just barely saw the shimmering of concentrated magic swirling about the latch.

“Alright, alright,” she muttered, that was simple enough. Break the curse on the door and it would open, but would that destroy the door? The last thing she needed was to add ‘destruction of property’ to her current list of misbehaviors. Especially since, unlike most professors, her personal quarters and her office had little separating them other than open air stairs.

_ But if the curse was just on the door, hm... _

The more she thought on it, the more she had a feeling this may be a prank from an upset student. There were plenty of ways for her to escape this, to call for help, anything. Someone might even come for her if she didn’t appear at the match. But it was odd all the same.

The longer she sat in silent puzzlement, the more content she became to wait until the match had ended to try and make an attempt to leave. Walking to the window, she unlatched the pane and, ignoring the cold breeze, she leaned her elbows on the sill and took a deep breath of air.

From the Quidditch pitch, she heard what at first sounded like jeering, but quickly turned to what could only be horrified screams.

Back going straight, Miranda leaned a bit further out the window and tried to listen harder. Had someone fallen? Was someone hurt? What on earth was happening?

“Shite,” she cursed, she couldn’t hear anything from this distance. Surely it couldn’t be anything that bad? Could it?

But her intuition was telling her something was more wrong than she realized. Biting her lip, she started to reconsider blowing open the door.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a little blue-white glimmer of something. Turning, Miranda blinked at the little spectral cat running up the outside wall of her tower.

It bounded up to the window sill, floating in mid-air. A patronus?

“Professor Devlin! Where on earth are you, girl?” Minerva’s stern tone echoed from its mouth before it dissipated. “The match has already begun and you’re nowhere to be found!”

Miranda frowned, leaning back, she lifted her hands. Closing her eyes, she conjured up her magic beneath her fingertips. “Expecto Patronum.” 

Silvery white light leaked from the tips of her hands, coalescing into the shape of a large, thick-bellied snake. Watching the creature stretch and yawn and sit dutifully on her windowsill, Miranda spoke. 

“Minerva, I’ve been locked in my office. Some sort of hex has sealed the door, and I’m unsure if I should risk opening it. Is everything alright? I can hear shouting.”

At the conclusion of her message, the serpent twisted around itself, slithering down her tower and out toward the field.

Watching it go, Miranda sighed and leaned her elbows back against the sill. All that was left now was to wait.

Or. . . Well. She shot another considering look at the door.

* * *

At the bottom of the castle, waiting in the nearest entrance to the Quidditch pitch, a fluffy grey cat stared up at the approaching two professors. As Snape and McGonagall drew close, she gave a meow so loud that both of them paused.

“We know, dear,” McGonagall acknowledged as they started climbing the stairs to the Astronomy tower. The cat gave a small chirrup and began trotting ahead of the two professors, leaping nimbly up the moving staircases.

Just as the small party reached the top landing, McGonagall took the lead, but Snape grabbed her wrist before she could reach for the iron-wrought handle.

“Severus? What-” the look on the man’s face paused Minerva’s tirade. Brows sitting low and mouth tight, Snape swept forward, wand tracing over the wood of the door.

“It’s been tampered with, rather heavily from what I can detect. This will take a moment to dispel.” But as he worked, McGonagall approached the door anyway.

“Professor Devlin?” she called, “Are you still there dear?”

After a moment there came a quiet. “Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry, this hex is a bit. . . unique for me to undo on my own, I thought it best to leave it before-”

A huge bang sounded through the corridor, and there was a white hot flash of light as the door swung open, nearly hitting Miranda in the face.

Though really she was far more occupied with the huge scorch marks that now marred both sides of the wood. “That. . . That was meant for me?”

“ _ That _ was the result of my dispelling the curse,” Snape’s eyes narrowed. “What was meant for you was far larger. Tell me, Professor Devlin, do you make a habit out of causing such trouble wherever you go?”

Miranda turned to him, eyes flashing. “I fail to see how this is my fault, Professor Snape. Now if you would excuse me, I believe I should speak to the headmaster.”

“Really?” Snape drawled, stepping in front of her before she could move past him and escape. “Because while you were apparently locked away in the castle, there was a. . . suspicious event at the Quidditch match.”

Miranda felt her face drop. The screaming, oh mercy of the Goddess- “Is everyone alright? The children-”

“Are shaken but for the most part fine,” McGonagall chose that moment to interrupt, coming between the two professors. “I agree with Professor Devlin that the headmaster must be notified about this. This sort of curse should not be tolerated.”

“The nature of the curse I’m less worried about,” Miranda finally turned to address her colleague. “I didn’t recognize the caster’s magical signature. I teach every year of every house, and know all of the current staff. But this caster was unfamiliar to me… whoever put that spell on my door is someone I’ve never encountered inside the castle.”


	10. Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dumbledore realizes keeping his current staff in the dark will cause more problems than it solves.

The winter holiday brought with it several feet of deep, fluffy snow. But somehow, though students' moods got only lighter, Miranda found herself worried. 

Dumbledore had examined her whole quarters very carefully, along with Professor Snape. But they found no evidence of someone in her rooms.

In the end, all it had done was make her look more suspicious and strange.

The more Mira thought on the event, the more concerned she got. Something was happening, something odd at this school. The castle’s magic grated against her senses almost daily now, the forest was in an uproar, on Halloween a bloody mountain troll somehow was let into the building, a student was attacked during a Quidditch match. . . And above all, there was some sort of secret dwelling on the third corridor that was so dangerous, even Flitwick had warned her not to go near.

Miranda sighed, rubbing at her eyes as she continued grading this most recent batch of fifth year’s star charts. She was horribly distracted by all this. A large part of her just wanted to get through the year, get used to the job and do her best with what she had. But another, larger, curiouser part of her wanted to sink her teeth into whatever was going on at Hogwarts that everyone was staunchly refusing to tell her.

If she had to be fended off from Flitwick with more half-truths and ‘don’t worry on it dear’s and ‘oh it’s nothing so concerning’s she was going to tear her bloody hair out.

Miranda scrubbed at her curls, once again down from its bun, and forced herself to focus on her grading. Her fifth years, she needed to bloody concentrate on her fifth years. They were certainly making progress, but she was unsure how they would do with this next round of N.E.W.T. preparation. Particularly with the winter holidays creeping closer. She’d considered not going home this year, she missed her family terribly but the castle was only getting stranger. Soon she would have to bring it up with the headmaster.

“H-Hello?”

Miranda jumped, barely holding back a curse at the sight of Quirrell standing in her doorway. How the hell had he opened the door without her hearing it? It was locked, wasn't it? And more than that, hadn’t she warded it from-

She forced herself to stop that train of thought. With everything going on, she was admittedly damn on edge, but. . . She knew that was no reason to take it out on Quirrell, even if he made her skin crawl.

“Come in, Professor Quirrell,” she attempted a smile at the man. “What can I do for you?”

“It’s rather late, Professor. Is grading truly giving you that much trouble?” he slunk into the room, and Miranda sighed.

Standing from her chair, Miranda was suddenly thankful for the desk between them. “Somewhat,” she forced herself to keep her tone light. “My fifth years are struggling with their workload I think.”

“Hm, understandable. But it really is rather late, I would have never thought you still awake had I not seen the light from the hallway,” he walked closer, until he was right across her desk. Suddenly, Miranda’s instincts were clamoring at her. Danger! Danger!

Her eyes drifted toward the door, and how he stood between it and her. Shite. Feeling fear creeping up her spine, she almost missed his next words. “You keep very odd hours, I must admit. Though perhaps that comes with being a Weyc.”

Miranda’s eyes snapped to Quirrell. “Excuse me?”

“A Weyc,” he was even closer, almost level with her now. That strange, wriggling feeling encompassing his magic seemed to reach at her skirts, forcing her to step backward. “That is what you are, isn’t it? A Weyc. A Wandless. The term really matters little, don’t you think? But I think you and I can help each other, Miranda.”

Miranda gathered her power about her, ignoring the fear freezing her belly. “I think you need to leave, Professor Quirrell.”

But her tense and frightened tone just made him smile as he put his hands behind his back. “Really? Because I think-”

Suddenly, the coals in her fireplace roared to green, iridescent life, and a thunderous voice came from within. “DEVLIN.”

Miranda jumped as the owner of said voice came through the flames, in nothing but an untucked white shirt and black trousers. “Snape?”

“A-Ah, apologies M-M-Miranda,” Quirrell tittered as he stepped toward the door. “I supp-pp-ppose we must continue this conversa-sation an-another t-t-time?”

And he was gone.

“Devlin?” Snape looked between her and the door Quirrell had just vanished through. Miranda gaped for a moment, probably doing a horrible impression of a carp as she fought for words. Snape swept closer, and Miranda reflexively flinched away.

She saw several emotions flicker across Snape’s face, too fast to catch, before his ever-impassive mask returned. “Your cat is a menace,” he said as he motioned, and Miranda noticed Mab winding back and forth through the Potion’s Master’s ankles.

“What? What did she-?” Miranda was still too shocked to find the right words.

“She found her way into my rooms, and refused to leave until she was quite certain I was awake and irritated. I simply came to return your precious  _ familiar _ .” Somehow he said it like a dirty word.

Somehow, his acerbic tone snapped her back into herself, and she found herself sneering back. “Well, my apologies for disturbing your precious rest.”

He hummed thoughtfully, before stalking toward the door. It was a much less intimidating image without his robes flicking behind him. “I think you need to come with me. Now.”

Pausing long enough to lift Mab into her arms, Miranda trailed hesitantly after Snape as he led her through the castle. 

* * *

It was hardly any time at all before Miranda found herself standing in front of a familiar stone gryffin. 

“Really, Professor Snape. Is my misbehaving cat worth waking the headmaster?”

But Snape did not answer, instead reciting the password and heading up the staircase. A wave of hot irritation crashed over her, but Miranda took a deep breath and forced it down before following her colleague. “Damn Slytherins,” she muttered, quiet enough Snape could not hear.

The door opened to reveal a dimly lit and empty office, as Snape swept into the room, he motioned to one of the chairs before the headmaster’s desk. “Sit.”

Unable to summon herself up to much of an argument, Miranda sat as Snape swept toward the more hidden back of the room. After a moment, there was a shift of wings, and she turned just in time to see a large bird swoop to cling to the back of her chair.

“Oh,” she breathed, a phoenix. “Hello beautiful.”

The creature gave a soft, melodious cry, leaning down its long neck to brush it’s cheek against her own. Miranda sighed at the comforting feeling, allowing her eyes to slip shut. It had been ages since she’d seen a phoenix. Unable to help herself, she reached up and let her magic thrum beneath her fingers, branching out and resonating with the rare bird.

The phoenix gave another cry, and its feathers shined a brighter crimson in response.

“Professor Devlin?” the headmaster’s voice startled her, and Miranda jumped like a child about to be scolded.

“Headmaster,” she flushed, feeling almost as red as the bird. The headmaster merely smiled, from behind his shoulder, Snape swept forward and moved toward the office door.

In a moment, the wood swung shut behind the Potion’s master, and they were alone.

“I have been alerted to some strange goings on in the castle this evening,” Dumbledore slowly moved to sit behind his desk. “Would you like some tea?”

The serious weight in Dumbledore’s voice was at odds with the situation. “I - I mean no offense sir, I’m not certain what Professor Snape may have told you, but my cat-”

“Is wise beyond her years, if she went to fetch Severus in the way that she did,” Dumbledore waved a hand, and a tea tray, complete with pot, cups, and even sandwiches appeared at his side. “If my suspicions are correct, you faced a great danger, if he had not gotten to you in time.”

Suddenly, a thousand pieces clicked into place, like a sick and harsh sort of eureka. “You know about Quirrell.” 

It wasn’t a question.

“I am, in fact, aware that Professor Quirrell has been very out of sorts since his return to the school this year.” Professor Dumbledore set about preparing a cup of tea, before enchanting it to float across the distance between them. “As I am aware of his apparent fascination with you.”

“I’d call it stalking,” Miranda sipped on the tea, letting the blend of spices wash over her tongue. “I’d also call the man more than ‘out of sorts.’”

Her hostility did little to affect the headmaster, as he looked over his spectacles at her. 

Several moments passed in silence, during which the door re-opened and Snape returned, McGonagall at his heels. The deputy-headmistress immediately sat and began helping herself to some tea, while Snape took over his usual post next to the fire.

After a long moment, Dumbledore raised a papery hand for Miranda to continue. “It seems my observations have not been complete, Professor Devlin. Would you do us the kindness of detailing what you have seen?”

Miranda felt a barb of anger shoot through her. “You’re asking me to speak plainly?”

The headmaster nodded, and Miranda took several moments to breathe before answering.

“Professor Quirinus Quirrell is extremely steeped in Dark Magic, and you have not only been aware of this fact since the beginning of term, but you’ve allowed him to teach and influence children at this school. What I fail to understand, headmaster, is how you could allow this.”

“How long have you yourself known, Professor Devlin?” Dumbledore’s soft voice caused her to pale.

“. . . Since I first shook his hand in the Great Hall, sir.”

“Yet you have not come forward with your suspicions, until now, when Severus has brought you to me.” The smile on the headmaster’s face was deeply at war with his accusatory words.

“I. . .” she tugged at the hem of her shawl, weighing her next words carefully. “I think you know exactly why I have not indulged in my suspicions, sir. As they have. . . mislead me in the past.”

As her eyes darted toward Snape’s post by the fire, the headmaster nodded, satisfied. “With that settled then, I should perhaps answer your question. There is a very specific reason why Professor Quirrell has been allowed to remain at this school. Which is that he has refused to fall into the trap I have set before him.”

“Excuse me?” Like dominoes, more pieces fell together. “You mean this whole business, the third floor, the posturing, the threat of danger, has been something designed to taunt and trap a dark wizard?”

“Professor Devlin,” Dumbledore’s voice rumbled in a way that all angry thoughts fled her. “You yourself have seen that whatever Quirrell has chosen to involve himself in is far greater than simple dark magic. However, we will not know the extent of the threat until we can catch him. So far he has acted in comparatively small, controllable chaos, though we cannot confirm what can or cannot be attributed directly to him.”

“The forest,” Miranda muttered, “And Potter’s mishap at the Quidditch match.”

“Exactly. While initially there was suspicion on the source of such powerful wandless magic, there is no doubt in my mind that you were not responsible.”

“The curse on the door was cast from the outside,” Snape’s voice caused Miranda to jump. His expression was a tight sneer, a thoughtful light in his eyes. “If you had cast it on your own, it would have been easy to detect, but you were correct, the signature was not your own. Rather messily cast I may add.”

“-As if it was done in a hurry,” Miranda finished, she had sensed as much. “The intent was to keep me locked in my rooms and out of the way. With my experience in wandless casting, if I was at the match, I could have-”

“Stopped exactly what we assume Quirrell was attempting to do, and kept Harry from harm.”

“His target really was a student then?” Miranda floundered. “But why? Harry Potter is a hero in name, I’ll admit, but he’s just a little boy. And what does that have to do with the trap you’ve apparently laid?”

Dumbledore steepled his fingers. “Miranda, do you know of the Philosopher’s Stone?”

She blinked, mouth running away from her. “It’s considered an alchemical miracle of magic. A stone that grants eternal life and wealth for whoever possesses it. . . You mean that artifact lies in the heart of the castle?”

The headmaster said nothing, so Miranda’s mind found another question. “Certainly it is a valuable thing, but what reason would Quirrell have to pursue it? And why harm Harry Potter?”

There was an instant tension in the room, and Dumbledore took in a deep sigh. “Because, Professor Devlin, he seeks to revive Lord Voldemort.”


	11. Holidaze

Miranda unexpectedly ended up remaining at Hogwarts for the holidays. Though her family had been in complete uproar at the thought. She couldn’t, wouldn’t go home with such knowledge burdening her. She wouldn’t leave her students while some Dark monster may roam the castle.

Laying back in her bed canopy, she sighed. _What on earth have I gotten myself into?_

She was starting to understand what caused Sinistra to so suddenly flee. If Dumbledore was worried about the return of. . . Him. And the entire castle was intended to be set up like some sort of mouse trap, anyone with a scrap of sanity would have run for the hills.

In the end, Dumbledore had not told her everything. He had refused to speak of what wards guarded the stone, or how he intended to stop Quirrell. That had nearly sent her growling, but the more realistic part of her knew it was for securities sake.

Then he had done something even more intimidating: he had asked for her help.

“I did not plan this quite so soon, and intended to wait until after you stepped into your full role as head of Ravenclaw,” he admitted, glasses shining strangely in the firelight. “But your insight is something I fear we cannot continue without. Keep a watch on Quirrell, though do not let him notice you, and I ask you to report your findings to me.”

Of course Miranda had agreed. But at the same time she knew she was being kept carefully out of the way. None of the teachers truly trusted her yet, and if her suspicions were correct, several of them knew much more than they were letting on. Somehow, despite knowing far more than before, Miranda found herself night after night lying awake in her bed, with far more questions than answers.

* * *

And then it was Christmas.

Somehow, Miranda managed to force the cloud of danger over her head away for the evening. Determined to make a good showing, she chose one of her finest blue-embroidered dresses, and actually attempted to sweep her hair up in a manner that was almost even elegant. 

The night’s revelry was harmlessly enjoyable though. The Great Hall was glimmering and beautiful, each table so packed with food she could swear the legs were creaking. Even the staff had fun with the little pull crackers that the elves had positioned at every table.

Taking a small sip of mead, Miranda smiled as Septima waved the end of a cracker under her nose. “Help me with this one, Mira?”

“Gods, you know I hate these,” she said, grabbing onto the other end of the colored paper anyway. With a tremendous BANG, a shower of silver glitter and sparks burst from the little tube, coating their end of the table.

There was an immediate uproar of laughter from the staff, as well as several groups of students as well. Biting her cheek to keep from smiling, Miranda brushed glitter off her nose and huffed; before taking the ridiculous puce-colored crown that had fallen out and jamming it onto Septima’s head.

As the laughter started anew, Miranda felt something in her uncoil, and her mother’s voice sang from deep within her. _The greatest defence against the dark, my dear, is no spell or clever words. It’s music, it’s laughter, and it’s love._

Grinning, Miranda pushed a stray hair from between her eyes and held up the cracker on her plate, offering the other end to Flitwick. “Oh Filius?”

* * *

_Dearest Miranda,_

_I, of course, send this letter with our love. Your father has just returned from his latest business trip to London, and with your brother home for the holidays, the island almost feels full again. Of course, we all miss you dearly, though I respect your devotion to remaining at school for this first term’s break._

_How are things at Hogwarts? Cold, I would imagine, it’s almost as far north as we are. Is Albus Dumbledore as scheming as ever? I had the funniest dream the other night. I would love to tell you more about it, but I’m afraid I’d get carried away with myself. Shadows are hardly the topic of good letters after all._

_Have you done any flying since you’ve last taken up your post? Perhaps it would do you good._

_I hope your charming little cat enjoys your new sunny tower as much as you do. Goodness knows if she’s half the Mab you named her for, you’ll know if she is unsatisfied. Similarly, Siobhan and Nero were asking after you the other day. They’ve also been having the strangest inklings about that area of land Hogwarts calls home._

_May your bed be safe,_

_Your Mother_

The snow around Hogwarts castle seemed to increase with abandon as the holidays went on, through the new year. While Quirrell continued to be strange, he seemed to have backed off from her for now. 

As she read the latest letter from her mother, Miranda felt herself start to grimace, only to flush as Septima leaned over.

“Something wrong, Mira?”

“My mother is less than enthused about my choice to stay at Hogwarts for the holiday break,” the words fell smoothly off her tongue, though they stung guiltily. “I haven’t visited them in over a year, now. I think she’s starting to get worried.”

“Over a year?” Septima’s raised voice drew the attention of the few staff at the table. “Cor, Miranda you used to try and go home every weekend at Hogwarts, how are you still functioning?”

“It’s not like I don’t miss them!” Miranda felt her blush deepen. “Things have just been. . . well, a bit complicated.”

“The Ministry never let you have time off?” 

Miranda leveled Septima with such a look that she flushed. “Alright, alright I got the message. But you know Dumbledore would have let you go home if you’d asked, love?”

Unable to help it, Miranda’s eyes slid down the table toward the headmaster. “If you say so.”

* * *

Reaching for her shelf, she started pushing papers and stacks of books aside. “Ooh, where on earth did I put that bowl? It has to be around here somewhere!”

After knocking over two bookstacks, nearly toppling an unlit candle, and hitting her head on the bottom of her desk, Mira’s hands wrapped around the shell-like surface of her scrying bowl. 

Sitting on the floor, she summoned her magic around her, and the once empty pearlescent surface filled with unnaturally still water. 

“Miranda Devlin for Giant’s Island,” she spoke loudly and clearly, hands cupping the bowl.

Before her, the water turned cloudy before fading into a familiar sight, the mirror over her mother’s bookshelf in the kitchen. 

Miranda found herself smiling at the familiar sight, the kitchen was all dark blue walls and hanging herbs, crystals hung over the sink window and she could see out into the extensive garden beyond.“Mother?”

“Mira?” her mother’s voice echoed back, and she heard the tell-tale click of her shoes. Soon Johanna Devlin rounded the corner, her crimson curls framing a seemingly ageless face. “Mira dear! There you are. It’s good to see you’re well.”

“And you, mama,” Miranda’s smile widened. “The holidays were good?”

“The family missed you, of course. But yes,” Johanna’s eyes twinkled for a moment before glinting with a different meaning. “Did you get my letter?”

Her brother may be a Slytherin, but Miranda knew well he got half of it from their mother. The letter she’d received had been worded carefully, but Mira knew how to read between the lines well enough. Whatever was happening at Hogwarts, it had branched out enough that all three covens surrounding the area were on alert.

“I did, tell me what you’ve seen.”

Her mother’s smile faded into something more serious. “Nero, Siobhan, and I have all had dreams in the last month involving Hogwarts. Dreams of a creeping shadow, skirting across the ground and stone. Siobhan has always been the most talented seer out of all of us. She says a dark cloud hangs over the school, the kind of storm that will only grow. . .” her mother trailed off, looking at her expectantly.

Miranda felt her hands tremble, and she knotted them in her shawl to hide the tell. She didn’t want to lie. However she wasn’t sure what alerting the surrounding covens would do. She had to be careful or things would tumble quickly out of control.

“There…” she licked her lips, “have definitely been some strange goings on. But I’m not certain if it’s worth worrying-”

“Don’t. Lie. To me, Miranda.” Johanna’s eyes flashed as she cut her daughter off. “I’m your _mother_. Something evil is lurking around the grounds of Hogwarts, and if Dumbledore thinks he can handle it then he should damn well say so. But if he tries to keep his secrets tied down too tightly, the rope he uses will hang us all.”

“I know,” the words fell roughly from her lips. “Gods I know. He’s certainly a powerful wizard, but I’m not certain I can do this. There’s been. . .”

Again, Miranda found it hard to speak, but being honest was far more in line with her nature. She brought her eyes up to meet her mother’s. “Your visions are correct. Some kind of danger is working its way around the castle, something to do with Voldemort’s remaining influence.”

Her mother paled, but an angry tic worked in her jaw. “One of those devout worshippers of his I presume? The way the Ministry handled that was a joke, I’m not shocked it’s coming back to bite.”

Miranda nodded reluctantly, scoffing. “That’s what happens when half the people in power secretly agree with them I suppose. But regardless, Dumbledore seems confident he has this handled. I’m not certain if he’s just trying to pretend for the student’s sake, but. . .”

She thought of the seriousness in his voice when discussing Harry Potter. “I think he knows their lives are worth too much to really risk.”

“Some of their lives, maybe,” her mother said. Miranda bit her lip hard to avoid showing her agreement. She thought hard about the Slytherin students, the way they constantly seemed on guard around others, the way Dumbledore emphasized the importance of _Harry_ ’s life and education.

“Either way, no matter how many of them he’s trying to protect, he won’t let this get out of control. . . We can’t afford it."


	12. A Vision & A Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miranda is finally fed the fuck up with Dumbledore's waffling, and takes matters into her own hands.

After the discussion with her mother, Miranda couldn’t take it anymore. Many of her house would consider the phrase ‘no news is good news’ to be the truth of the century. However Miranda, sensing some proverbial axe outside her vision, was growing only more antsy. The students had returned from holiday, classes had resumed, and so far all she had noticed about Quirrell is that whatever bloody dark magic he was tampering with appeared to be making the man’s body fall out from underneath him. Every week that past he seemed ever-thinner, jumping at small noises and stuttering worse. 

She almost felt bad, if she could be sure that it wasn’t all some sort of act.

Almost two months since her discussion with Dumbledore, and a day after her mother’s talk, she took matters into her own hands.

Many modern wizards knew absolutely nothing about Weyccan witches. Since the division of the two worlds, most traditional practices had been lost or changed to be completely unrecognizable. Miranda had been using that to her advantage. Many students, being able to bloody see, had noticed that she preferred to cast without a wand. However, with some clever maneuvering on her part, and a bit of fake wand-waving here and there, as far as they knew she was an ordinary witch, if not occasionally odd.

To keep that guise, she had left many of her more. . . traditional supplies at home. An absence she could certainly feel widening over time. Sometimes she felt so groundless, she was worried she wouldn’t be able to even cast a circle again, should she try.

So, one winter’s day, when she had been fortunate enough to receive the duty of chaperoning the Valentine’s day visit to Hogsmede, Mira comprised a shopping list. It was a simple enough collection of things, all attainable from shops in town, a few white tower candles from the book store, a bit of chalk from the apothecary, and a certain brand of incense that was a bit hard to get outside of Egypt, but attainable enough from writing one of Sly’s curse-breaker friends.

The trip to town was nice, though there were so many children attempting to snog each other in the Three Broomsticks she’d nearly spilled butterbeer down her front. 

She’d actually ended up dumping it over the lap of a hopeful wizard instead when he whispered something entirely too forward into her ear at the bar. It caused quite the uproar, much to the chagrin of McGonagall who was there with her.

“I warned you what would happen if we met there for lunch,” Miranda sighed, wrapping her scarf a bit tighter as they headed back toward the castle. “I’ve got a bit of bad luck with that sort of thing.”

“I would warn you then, Professor, that with the amount of students who saw you, the entirety of Hogwarts will know by tonight.”

“Know what?” Miranda couldn’t help but scoff, smiling slightly. “That their Astronomy teacher is a shrew? I assure you, I’ve been called worse, if I’m lucky, it’ll ward off potential suitors.”

Of course, the entire castle did know by dinner-time, which led to Septima grinning over her chicken. “Cor, Miranda, please tell me your drink was still hot.”

“Of course,” she sipped her water benignly. “What would be the point otherwise?”

Vector’s shriek of laughter drew the eye of about every other staff member, but with how calm Professor Devlin looked, none of them could figure out what on earth she must have said.

* * *

As she returned to her rooms that evening, Miranda slowly began to unpack her purchases. Immediately, the tension she’d been trying to keep down all day began to bubble to the front of her consciousness. It had been almost four years since she’d tried this particular type of spell. While she didn’t  _ fear  _ the outcome necessarily, she knew the chances of it unlocking something were rather high, and she wasn’t sure if she was ready for that. Or even what that might do.

Keeping her breathing even, she unpacked her candles, chalk, and other ingredients, and set about preparing her circle.

First she marked the floor, it was a simple enough visionary spell, so the runes were basic as well. Next she placed her candles, each at an apex point to help her magic flow evenly. 

Some time later, and the set-up was finally done. Standing in the center of the circle, Miranda let her power beat strong beneath her breastbone. As she began to meditate her breathing, her magic branched out, curling and flowing around her. From deep within her, she felt her power almost yawn and stretch.

On a quick exhale, she lit the candles surrounding the circle. It was time to begin.

“ _ There is a danger, lurking here, _

_ It is unseen, though I do fear, _

_ It haunts my steps, it chills my blood. _

_ I wish to see, where next I could _

_ Thwart it, stop it, end it’s plot, _

_ And end evil it seeks to wrought.” _

Her sight faded out, and Miranda felt herself swept from her body as a vision began to wrack her senses. 

_ The creature slithered upon the ground, over underbrush, twigs, feeling the forest’s magic shout around it in alarm. It’s prey was close, injured pale hide skirting and fleeing through the trees. In the murky dark, splashes of bright, searing blood lead it onward, hunger clawing at its belly. But there was more ahead of it than met the eye. Rage and darkness burned her throat like bile. In a red flash, there was a young child’s scream, a dog barking, sparks and flame as the creature swept down upon its prey, jaws open and- _

Miranda gasped back to herself, body prone on the floor. Feeling her breath leave her in pants, she felt herself shake with the last vestiges of the vision. Cold sweat stung her eyes and stuck to her clothes, causing her shivering to increase. 

Dumbledore. She needed to speak to Dumbledore, if only her body would cooperate. As she attempted to heave herself off the floor, Miranda felt magical drain drag at her consciousness.  _ Shit _ , she thought, sliding back onto the floor.  _ It’s been too long since I’ve casted. Without my full power I can’t stay standing. _

Taking several deep breaths, Miranda pressed a fist into the floor. She had to get up.

Tensing her hand against the wood, she felt another shiver run through her. But this time when she stood, her legs held her. Not without swaying, but she was up.

Moving to her fireplace, she grabbed a pinch of Floo Powder. “Dumbledore.”

When the flames turned green, she stepped into the flames and vanished.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore sighed as he sorted through the latest angry letters from Lucius Malfoy. The man had always been one of the more. . . vocal members of the Board of Governors. So far he’d been able to keep his recent hiring of Professor Devlin from Malfoy’s notice, but he knew it was only a matter of time before the bigot found out and raised hell.

Rubbing a spot in his temple, his attention was suddenly drawn away as the flames in his fireplace turned bright green.

“Headmaster.” Miranda Devlin, speak of the devil, stepped from the fireplace. Her hair curling about in a mass, some sweat-stuck to her forehead, her eyes wide and quicksilver bright. Around her, her magical energy seemed to almost snap and chatter.

If Albus was a lesser man, he would have jumped at the wildness of her.

Instead, he forced himself to smile genially, and motioned her to come further into the room. “Professor Devlin, has something happened?”

“Headmaster,” she said again, slipping into her seat. “I’ve. . . had a vision of a sort, sir.”

His brows raised, he hadn’t been aware that Miranda was able to have prophetic visions at all. Keeping his vestige calm, he nodded. “And what did you see?”

“The creature that haunts the forest sir,” she reached up a hand to brush some curls out of her face. “It- It’s hunting something, feeding on the occupants of the forest to stay strong. It’s...” her eyes took on a faraway sort of look.

Dumbledore wanted to give her a moment. She was clearly still processing whatever she had seen, but for something to so obviously shake her... “Professor Devlin?”

She started slightly, “sir?”

Standing, he gave a slight flick of his wand. From a cabinet behind his desk, a latch unlocked, and his Pensieve slowly emerged from it’s hidden compartment.

“Are you familiar with a Pensieve?” he asked, slowly lifting the bowl up and over to his desk.. “If you cannot tell me of what you saw, perhaps it would be easier to show me.”

Devlin’s blue eyes reflected the light of the bowl in shocking relief before they flicked away. “Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

She reached up, wandless, and pressed two fingers to the space between her eyes. In a slow, smooth movement, she pulled a thin thread of memories out.

The gossamer-like material dragged gently as she moved it over the bowl. In an almost tender movement, it unattached and dropped into the water below.

On contact, the water changed a blackened brown, and Miranda’s vision replayed before them.

***

Miranda sat back heavily in her chair as Dumbledore hovered over the ‘Pensive.’ She didn’t have the heart or the energy to tell him it was just a fancy modern term wizards like to use for scrying bowls. Tipping her head back, she felt her eyes flutter shut at the sudden exhaustion. She could feel her magic beneath her skin. It was like a second heartbeat, like an electrified nervous system, like… like… she couldn’t form the words. The evening had been too harried for her to properly keep her head.

And now she could feel all that latent energy like she had hooked herself up to a car battery. She took a deep breath in, feeling herself sweat despite the cold room. She had to keep control.

“Professor Devlin?” Dumbledore’s voice was soft, but not something she could ignore. Tipping her head forward again, she opened her eyes and fixed them on him. To his credit, he did not flinch.

He waved a weathered hand over the bowl. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention. You’ve done a great service this evening. Tell me, do you have these visions often?”

_ I used to. . . _ a wistful part of her crooned.

“No sir,” she said. “It’s been years since my last.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Well, I shall think on this, and should anything else come to your attention, please bring it to me.”

“Sir,” she felt her brow furrow. “Aren’t you going to do anything about this? The creature in the forest is going to attack a student. My vision was not the most clear, I’ll grant you, but anyone could tell that much.”

“For now, we must be patient. Though I will keep this in mind, so we can be properly cautious.”

Miranda’s brain was exhausted enough she couldn’t find the right words for her disapproval. Her own mother’s words echoed back at her.  _ “Some of their lives, maybe.” _

The anger that rose up in her was like a tide of flame. Her eyes dropped to her skirts, finding herself clutching at them so hard her hands nearly creaked with the strain. As if to support her, her magic pushed that emotion.  _ Make him agree with you. _

Instead, she forced herself to stand in her chair. “Goodnight, Headmaster,” she mumbled, wrapping herself in her ‘proper witch’ persona. In just a few short strides, she was out of the room.

The next morning found Miranda sliding into the Great Hall with a horrible headache, though not as bad as she’d expected. Truthfully, Divination was a wandless art she had somewhat blocked herself off from when she had accepted the job at the Ministry. Unlocking and then re-locking such a heavily bolted latch was bound to have some consequences for her magic, but she feared what it would mean for her job if she allowed her mask to slip. 


	13. Intruder and Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miranda is less than pleased when she finds out the headmaster doesn't appear to have taken her warnings seriously.

Thin fingers tenderly cupping her tea, Sybil Trelawny sighed at the students milling outside the window. “You have foreseen the potential for great tragedy, my dear.”

Miranda sighed, huffing a stray curl out of her eye. “Yes, that much I could gather. But Dumbledore-”

“I know,” Sybil sighed again, her pile of wraps and scarves exhaling with her. Her friend had always had a sickly demeanor, her own body struggling to keep up with the magical strain she put on it. Seers were notoriously unhealthy creatures. The physical strain of true Divinatory magic was often too much for a person to regularly bear. For that reason, Sybil rarely left her tower and was almost always freezing.

In all her layers, she reminded Miranda, not for the first or last time, of a rather sweet and fuzzy moth. 

Sybil continued, unaware of her musings. “Our headmaster has never struck me as a terribly strong believer in the third eye. More’s the pity I suppose, but he cannot help his own lack of talent.”

Snorting into her teacup at the dig, Miranda found herself grinning. Sybil always managed to cheer her up. “Obviously. But I’m unsure if I should do anything to remedy the situation. Not that I think it’ll be that likely for a student to end up in the forest. But perhaps I should set down a ward?”

“Over the entire forest?” Sybil’s thin brows arched incredulously, for a moment, her airy demeanor forgotten. “Miranda my dear, with the bonds you've placed on yourself, is that possible?”

“I’m. . . not sure,” she admitted. Back home, her family had long standing wards on the island forest but- “The forest is a unique place of power, it might resist me trying to wrangle it.”

The magical backlash could be immense.

She didn’t say that out loud.

Miranda willed her hands still as she lifted her teacup once more to her lips. “Perhaps I should try to reason with Dumbledore once more.”

Sybil gave a worried sigh. “Perhaps.”

* * *

Descending the spiral staircase from Sybil’s tower, Miranda tightened her shawl around her, fighting the afternoon’s chill. The castle remained drafty, even as spring was approaching.

Luckily, the walk back to her own rooms was relatively short. She kept herself somewhat focused, but as her skirts dragged languidly across the stone, she found herself circling darker and darker thoughts. 

“Another meeting with Trelawny?” The softly voiced question, sound where there should be none, gave her heart a rabbit-like jump. Miranda’s head whipped to the side to meet the eyes of one disgruntled Potions professor.

He stood casually a few feet up the hall, as if he had happened to turn the corner at the same time as she. Though, and perhaps it was just her own imagination, he did look _particularly_ ornery that afternoon. “Well, Snape, sometimes people who like one another have this thing called ‘tea.’ Have you heard of it?”

Snape looked genuinely startled at her cheek, and honestly so was she. Coughing to cover an embarrassed laugh, she turned her gaze away to hide her flush. 

He would make her regret that, and the Slytherin did not disappoint. “Tell me, Devlin: do you delight in being as foolishly unprofessional as decorum can allow? At this rate you’ll end up fired faster than any other staff in history.”

“Perhaps they’ll put my name on a placard,” Miranda’s own pessimistic musings somehow protected her from being goaded, and she found herself chuckling again. “Regardless, you seem particularly _prickly_ , Professor. Did one of your precious students land in detention?”

He blinked, then his gaze narrowed dangerously. “I’m assuming then that you heard of Mister Malfoy being dragged into Potter’s most recent mess? The lot has landed themselves detention in the Dark Forest.”

“What?” Miranda felt her whole body jolt. “They can’t possibly do that!”

Snape’s head tilted in a way so serpentine it brought her back from her distress. “Why-ever not, Professor Devlin?”

“It. It just seems harsh is all!” Trying to keep her tone incredulous, she backtracked. It was unlikely Dumbledore had told anyone of her vision, and she was unsure what the consequences would be for sharing. “They’re only first years, and it’s in such magical distress-”

“Little would be too harsh for Potter’s particular brand of troublemaking,” Snape drawled, his annoyance seeming to swell.

“What?” she asked. “I wasn’t aware he was causing trouble. He doesn’t seem the sort.”

Snape let out a bitter sort of sound. “Only to those who don’t know his lineage. He comes from a long line of show-offs and irritants, and has clearly inherited their worst qualities.”

“Show off?” Miranda’s frown grew, her brow furrowing at the thought of his magic, that broken web she glimpsed at the start of the year. “You mean the little boy who sits at the back of the class and hides in his chair every time I call role? He may be a Gryffindor but he seems rather tame- additionally!” she held up a finger as it looked like Snape was about to interrupt. “I’d warn you that judging a young person based on their lineage will only lead to mistakes. I would know.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed again and he grimaced, but turned head face from her. Looking out the window onto the lawn, he spoke quietly once more.

“You Ravenclaws so often act as if you know more than you do.”

“And you Slytherins love to keep secrets and play at being misunderstood,” she shot back, turning on her heel to walk away. “And I’d know that too.”

* * *

“Hagrid!” Miranda attempted to keep her smile benign as she strode across the dark lawn. 

“Evening, Professor Devlin,” he greeted, hoisting his crossbow higher on his shoulder. “What’s got you coming down to the forest so late?”

“I was told you had a detention this evening,” Miranda kept her body relaxed, and voice casual. “I’ve finished with my classes for today, and the headmaster asked me to lend some assistance.” 

“Why that’s mighty kind of him,” Hagrid’s grin sent a jolt of guilt up Miranda’s spine. “We may just need that help, but I’ll wait ‘til the students are here before I tell too much.”

Miranda nodded, and there was a slight pause as Hagrid lit a lantern and handed it to her.

“So Professor, how are you liking Hogwarts so far?” Hagrid asked, the cliche of the question belayed by his genuine tone and smile. “Anything like you remember?”

“It’s been. . .” Miranda paused, debating between brutal honesty and a kinder answer. “It’s been exhausting, overwhelming, even frightening. So yes, exactly how I remember it.”

The large man gave a full belly laugh, and she felt herself flush at her own lack of tact. “Well,” he shrugged, “anything that’s worth havin’ usually takes a bit of work don’t it. Without that, you ain’t got no sense of accomplishment.”

Miranda paused, passing the lantern from one hand to the other. “I suppose I hadn’t thought of that. . .” The sound of approaching feet stopped the conversation before Hagrid could respond.

“Is that you, Filch? Hurry up, I want to get started,” Hagrid called. As she turned her head and peered into the dark, Miranda spotted Filch approaching with several first-years in tow.

Hagrid headed off to greet them, but Miranda stayed back, the last thing she needed was Filch questioning why she was suddenly here. When she had told Dumbledore of her vision, he asked her to keep it as quiet as possible, to prevent students from finding out and panicking.

Personally she couldn’t believe he was allowing this to continue at all.

“Right then," said Hagrid, "now, listen carefully, 'cause it's dangerous what we're gonna do tonight, an' I don't want no one takin' risks. Follow me over here a moment.”

He finally led the students away to the edge of the forest where Miranda was waiting. She saw their momentary hesitation before the lamp-light caught her face beneath her hood.

“Professor Devlin?” the Granger girl asked. “What are you doing here?”

“Keeping track of four troublemaking first-years is a difficult task in full daylight,” Miranda let herself smile slightly. “I offered Hagrid my help, if you lot needed an extra chaperone.”

“And we will, at that.” Hagrid lifted his lantern high, illuminating the path into the forest. “see that stuff shinin' on the ground? Silvery stuff? That's unicorn blood. There's a unicorn in there bein’ hurt badly by summat. This is the second time in a week. I found one dead last Wednesday. We're gonna try an' find the poor thing. We might have to put it out of its misery. "

"And what if whatever hurt the unicorn finds us first?" said Malfoy, unable to keep the fear out of his voice.

“That would be what we’re for, Mister Malfoy.” Miranda said, now realizing where Hagrid was going with this. She felt her temper rise a bit at letting students into the forest in this state, but she kept her tone calm.

“Exactly.” said Hagrid. "And keep to the path. Right now, we're gonna split into two parties and follow the trail in different directions. There's blood all over the place, it must've been staggerin' around since last night at least. "

Miranda shuddered at the vision she’d had the night before. Gathering her magic around her, she turned toward her students.

“I want the professor!” Malfoy said quickly, glancing between her and the groundskeeper. If the situation wasn’t so dire, Miranda might find his childishness endearing.

Hagrid nodded. "So me, Harry, and Hermione will go one way and Draco, Neville, and the professor will go the other. Now, if any of us finds the unicorn, we'll send up green sparks, right? Get yer wands out an' practice now -”

There was a slight shuffle from the students as they hurried to produce their wands, each demonstrating they could send a little flick of green sparks out at will.

“Good,” Hagrid praised. “And if anyone gets in trouble, send up red sparks, and we'll all come and' find ya -- so, be careful -- let's go."

As they headed into the forest, Miranda paused. She needed her hands free if she was to be of any use. “Mister Longbottom, would you hold the lantern?”

“Ye-yes Professor Devlin.” He reached out and took it in shaking hands. Wrapping her fingers over the boy's own, Miranda made sure he had a nice firm grip before fully handing it off.

Just inside the forest, the path split, and Hagrid's group went left while Miranda’s headed right. There were still splashes of bright, glittering blood on the path and brush, but the pattern didn’t indicate if the creature was running in the same direction, or the opposite way.

Miranda sighed, if only her cousin Logan was here, he’d always had a talent for tracking.

As they headed deeper and deeper into the forest, Miranda felt a tension creeping at the back of her neck. The forest was on higher alert than when she had visited on Halloween. Something was very, very wrong. It felt like pain, like a seeping wound.

“Wait a moment,” she bid her charges stop, slowly approaching a large oak on the edge of the path. Reaching out a hand, she brushed it against the bark. “Something is out of balance here.”

Closing her eyes, Miranda let her senses creep out, but kept them light and low to the ground. Breathing slow, she reached into the very roots of the magic of the forest. She felt a cry of anguish echo back. Whatever danger there was, it was in the forest tonight, they were not alone.

“I know that,” she muttered, thinking of her vision, the flash of teeth and blood. “but where. . .”

A shriek sounded from just behind her, and Miranda whipped around to a crashing sound. She gasped as red sparks flew up into the sky, the bright light making her blink.

But the next sound she heard was cruel laughter. Malfoy had his hands on his knees, half bent over and cackling. Meanwhile the Longbottom boy sheepishly stared at the broken lantern at his feet, his face as red as the sparks he had summoned.

“I-I’m sorry Professor. But while you were turned away I wasn’t paying attention and - and Malfoy grabbed me and I dropped the lantern.”

“You should have seen your face!” Malfoy laughed. “I didn’t think you could scream like a little girl, Longbottom-”

“Mister Malfoy!” Miranda snapped, feeling her temper reach its peak. The boy instantly turned pale. “What in the name of the goddess possessed you to do such a thing? I would think a young man like yourself would know the seriousness of this situation, and wouldn’t resort to such childish behavior! You should be _ashamed_!”

The young man flushed, unconsciously pouting. “I didn’t think he’d jump that high, Professor. I didn’t know Gryffindor’s could be such cowards-”

“Hold your tongue, Mister Malfoy,” Miranda warned. “I will not tolerate this immaturity. Twenty-five points from Slytherin, and I’ll be having a word with Professor Snape about this when we return to the castle.”

The boys both gawked, this was the first time either of them had seen her take any points from a house at all. After a moment, Malfoy’s mouth snapped shut, and he glared at a point far over her shoulder.

“Now,” Miranda adjusted her cloak, “I suppose we’ll have to wait for the others to arrive since we’ve signaled them of trouble, but that is the last foolishness we’ll be partaking in tonight. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Professor,” both boys responded in kind.

Bending down, Miranda lowered her hood and retrieved her wand from her hair. One quick tap repaired the lantern, but couldn’t retrieve the oil that had been lost. 

“Mister Malfoy, you’ll be carrying the lantern if you would,” she held it out to him, and the boy sullenly took it. Another flick of her wrist, and her wand lit like a lamp of its own. For a moment it seemed to sputter, but she sent another burst of magic through it. She hated wand casting.

“I’m here! I’m here-” Hagrid crashed through the undergrowth, pausing at the sight of them all in one piece. “What-”

“Apparently we failed to explain the seriousness of this task to our charges. The red sparks were nothing more than a little prank,” Miranda couldn’t keep the chill out of her voice. She knew she was being a bit unfair, but she was so high strung this evening she couldn’t stop herself. “Perhaps we should form different groups.”

* * *

Once the other two students were retrieved, it was decided that Hagrid would take Miss Granger and Mister Longbottom, while Misters’ Potter and Malfoy would stay with her. After the dressing down she’d given him, it was unlikely that the boy would try making trouble with Miranda around.

Hagrid seemed disappointed and frustrated, but had taken the other students and left with a slight huff. Not that she was one to tempt fate, but Miranda found herself feeling the same.

“I’ve had just about enough of this,” she sighed. Taking a deep breath in, she reached into the core of her power and _stretched_. Unbeknownst to her, her hair took on a slight blue-ish iridescence, and her skin seemed to give off a slight light.

In response, the forest’s magic surged up beneath her feet, the tide reaching out to her like barkskin hands, begging. She finally sensed the life of the injured unicorn.

Turning to her two students, she raised her lit wand to point. “This way.”

After nearly half an hour of walking, the blood splattering the forest floor began to increase significantly. Where it once was dapples and drips, it now splashed and even streaked across the ground. If she looked closely, she could see where the creature had fallen once, it’s leg smearing blood upon the ground before it continued on.

Miranda hesitated. She could call for help at this point, have her students retrieve Hagrid and the others. But would that just put more people in danger? She could protect two boys and herself more easily than a group, and she wasn’t sure what she had foreseen.

“Look -- " Potter said, holding out his arm to stop her and Malfoy. The unicorn was just beyond the patch of trees, in a clearing before them. Flicking her wrist, Miranda turned out the light of her wand and stowed it.

The boys immediately moved into the clearing, and Miranda felt her spine tighten with fear. Coming around to take the lead, Miranda held out a hand to stop them. “Careful.”

The poor creature was clearly dead, not that she had expected much different. Miranda sighed at the broken body of the once ethereal unicorn, its sightless eyes fixed on a far distant point.

Then something slithered across her senses: black tar running down glass.

On the far side of the clearing, the bushes trembled, and Miranda carefully moved further in front of her students. A creature emerged from the underbrush, obscured by the night’s mist. It seemed unbothered by their presence as it crawled toward the unicorn’s body.

With its approach, Miranda tasted the familiar ozone in her throat and the cloying smell of damp. Quirrell? The intruder? Trying to figure out her next move, Miranda took another slow step in front of the children. 

But when the creature bent to drink the blood of the unicorn, Malfoy screamed and ran from the clearing.

Miranda’s mind went blank for a moment as the creature’s hooded head snapped up, mouth dripping with blood. But as it moved, Miranda lifted a hand, feeling power surge to her fingers.

“I call to fire and flame-” she muttered. In unison, a gallop of hooves rose to meet her magic, and a centaur burst through the brush, kicking and shouting. From her hand burst a ball of bright magenta fire and in a flurry of movement, whatever occupied the clearing fled into the night.

For a moment, all was quiet. Miranda searched, with eyes and magic, to ensure the creature was gone, but there wasn’t even an echo of it left behind.

Turning, she saw Harry clutching his head, kneeling on the ground. 

“Mister Potter?” she called his name, kneeling to wrap an arm around him. 

“A true witch?” a soft voice asked, and Miranda’s gaze shot up to the centaur that still stood before her. “We did not know one of your kind had returned to the school.”

“Yes,” Miranda relaxed slightly. The centaur was a palomino color, with kind eyes. Centaurs were often very territorial, and sometimes offended easily, but were often fine so long as you were polite. 

She nodded in the direction the creature had fled. “Thank you for that.”

His demeanor was suddenly grave. “You sensed the truth of that creature, did you not?”

_Quirrell. . ._

“Yes, I did,” Miranda frowned. “I was wondering what had the forest so worried. I can’t say I’m disappointed.”

The centaur nodded, before looking at her charge. He bent to help them both stand. “You are the Potter boy. Are you alright?”

Harry gazed at them both with wide eyes. “Yes -- thank you -- what was that? Professor?”

Miranda hesitated, but only for a moment. “Something has been terrorizing the forest since the start of term. Something horrible, something Dark. I-”

“You must get back to the others,” the centaur interrupted. “It is not safe here. He cannot do magic as you do, correct?”

Miranda felt Potter’s eyes on her and sighed. “No, he can’t.”

The centaur lowered himself on his front legs. “Then it is best you ride my back Harry Potter, so we can more swiftly deliver you both to Hagrid and the others. My name is Firenze.”

“Miranda,” she introduced, helping Potter climb onto his back.

There was suddenly a sound of more galloping from the other side of the clearing. Miranda gathered more of her power, but relaxed again when two more centaurs burst through the trees, their flanks heaving and sweaty.

"Firenze!" One thundered. "What are you doing? You have a human on your back! Have you no shame? Are you a common mule?"

"Do you realize who this is?" said Firenze. "This is the Potter boy, and a true witch. The quicker they leave this forest, the better. "

"What have you been telling them?" the first centaur growled. "Remember, Firenze, we are sworn not to set ourselves against the heavens. Have we not read what is to come in the movements of the planets?"

The other pawed the ground nervously before finally speaking. "I'm sure Firenze thought he was acting for the best," he said in his gloomy voice.

But the first kicked his back legs in anger. Miranda took a step toward Firenze, reaching out to place a hand on Harry’s back. He glanced over at her, but she kept her eyes on the two other centaurs.

"You say it’s for the best! What is that to do with us? Centaurs are concerned with what has been foretold! It is not our business to run around like donkeys after stray humans in our forest!"

Firenze hissed in anger.

"Do you not see that unicorn?" Firenze bellowed. "Do you not understand why it was killed? Or have the planets not let you in on that secret? I set myself against what is lurking in this forest, Bane, yes, with humans alongside me if I must."

“Please,” Miranda interrupted, she couldn’t risk this group losing their tempers with her student in the mix. “If you would prefer it, I will take him back myself. I will not ask any of your kind to put themselves in danger.”

“Then you are both fools!” The centaur Bane sneered. “The humans who live in that castle are not something our kind should ever be concerned with, they play with their own fate.”

Glaring at his compatriot, Firenze took a few steps toward the forest. Taking his cue, Miranda whispered a spell, letting her power lighten her steps and quicken her heart.

“We will discuss this another time, Bane.” Firenze whisked around; with Harry clutching on as best he could, they plunged off into the trees, leaving the other two behind them.

Turning on her heel, Miranda dashed after him. With the help of her magic, she barely felt her feet touch the ground as they fled through the thick tree line.

Trees and thickets rushed past the two of them as they carved a path through the trees. Cloak flying out behind her, Miranda felt a small part of her lighten now that the threat had, temporarily, been dealt with. For this brief moment, her students were safe.


End file.
